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Hiotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STREET 
WEBSTER,  N.Y.  I4S80 

(716)  B?';.45C3 


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CIHM/ICMH 

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la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

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dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

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filmis  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

STORIES  OF  THE 


»i 


LAND  OF  EVANGELINE 


) 


( 


\ 


>J 


BY 


/, 


GRACE  DEAN  Mcleod  V 


'  0>(\k: 


"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  iand.** 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP,   LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO. 


20321 


fo'^  f  ^-  S.  ^'  J).  Y- 


Copyright,  1891, 


BY 


D.  LoTHRop  Company, 


J 


TO  THE   LOVING   MEMORY 
OF 

WILLIAM   THOMAS   WATERMAN 

AND 

JAMES   BENNETT  McLEOD 

MY  GRANDFATHERS 


LONG   DEAD,    BUT   ALIVE    EVER    IN   MY   HEART 
I  DEDICATE  THESE  TALES  OF  OLD  ACADIE 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

THE   HUNCHBACK  OF   PORT  ROYAL.  ,  15 

II. 
THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT   ,  ,  ,  ,  55 

III. 
THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH  CROSS  .  77 

IV. 
THE  COW-BELLS   OF  GRAND  PRE       ,  .  103 


V. 

THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


•  . 


128 


VI. 

THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL'S    HARBOR         ,  146 


VII. 
THE  STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK 


169 


CONTENTS. 


VIII. 
THE   WILD    POSTMAN         .... 

IX. 


192 


THE  SCARLET  SPECTER  OF  SANDY  RIDGE     217 


X. 


"  BOY  BLUE "    OF   GRAND   PRE 


•  . 


237 


XI. 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN    OF   MINAS         .  266 


XII. 
THE   LIGHT  ON  BLACK    LEDGE 

XIII. 


f  •  291 


AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  LOUISBURG  306 


5 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Down  the  Bluff Frontis. 

Pauline  gave  a  loud  cry        .... 
Help  from  the  other  side      .... 
A  muffled  note  of  wonder  burst  from  every  man 
The  child  sprang  to  Massaosit's  side    . 
Old  Mag  and  the  young  commander     . 
Leon  arrives  in  the  plague-stricken  village  . 


6S 
95 

121 

»39 

2VJ 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL, 


Ti  ^AY  20,  1690. 

iVX  Flood-tide  at  Port  Royal.  Sundown 
on  the  rippling  water  of  ^he  tree-rimri;cd  Basin, 
Goldeii  flashes  on  the  tree-topped  mountain. 
Crimson  tints  across  the  clouds.  Dusky  shad- 
ows in  the  Valley.  Genial  warmth  in  the  air, 
and  vital  forces  everywhere. 

Mindful  of  all  this  vernal  energy  and  newness 
of  life,  and  taking  the  wholesome  air  in  deep- 
drawn  respirations  was  a  broad-breasted  tall 
man,  walking  leisurely  along  the  crooked  path 
that  led  from  the  Settlement  up  Lequille  River, 
to  Port  Royal.  He  was  keen-eyed,  firm-faced, 
and  compact  of  build  — a  French  Catholic 
priest,  at  this  time  the  curd  of  Port  Royal,  and 

15 


i6 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


■Ill 

li!  I 


II'' 


known  throughout  the  Settlements  as  Father 
Petete. 

The  soft  evening  air  and  quiet  rural  loveliness 
of  the  scene  had  relaxed  the  tension  of  his 
usually  hard  features.  His  errand  to  Port 
Royal  was  a  message  of  good  tidings  to  the 
governor;  it  needed  no  haste,  and  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  man  was  indolent  as  the  slowly 
growing  leaves  which  bordered  his  pathway 
along  the  banks  of  the  sinuous  stream. 

Suddenly  there  came  upon  this  peaceful  scene 
a  sound  which  seemed  to  rush  out  of  the  sky, 
and  reverberating  with  multiplied  echoes  from 
the  surrounding  hills,  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on 
the  ears  of  the  musing  priest. 

He  started,  and  listened  intently  for  minutes, 
then  hurriedly  retraced  his  steps  around  one  of 
the  flexures  of  the  path  till  a  view  of  the  Basin 
could  be  had. 

"  It  is  surely  the  Boete,"  *  he  muttered. 
«  Surely !  but  why  ? " 

*  A  short  cannon  placed  at  the  entrance  to  the  Basin,  and  used  as  • 
signal  gun. 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


17 


The  Basin  was  clear  of  a  sail,  far  as  his  eye 
could  reach.  He  turned  again,  and  hastened 
over  the  distance  that  still  lay  between  him  and 
the  town. 

Sunset  had  given  place  to  twilight,  twilight  to 
moonlight,  when  he  started  to  return  from  Port 
Royal.  His  steps  were  no  longer  slow,  his  face 
neither  peaceful  nor  calm  ;  and  he  paused  often 
and  stood  with  his  face  turned  to  the  distant 
Basin,  listening  intently.  But  the  report  of  the 
early  evening  was  not  repeated,  nor  were  theie 
other  unusual  sounds  to  break  the  midnight 
stillness. 

His  own  house  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
Settlement,  and  as  he  neared  it  he  quickened 
his  steps,  for  on  the  rough  slab  of  slate  that 
formed  the  doorstep  was  seated  a  queer  mis- 
shapen little  figure.  The  priest's  look  of  anx- 
iety changed  for  a  moment  to  one  of  pity  and 
love,  as  he  stood  over  the  sleeping  boy. 

He  was  a  curious,  malformed  being.  The 
small,  well-made  head  set  so  low  on  the  body 


i8 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  PORT  ROYAL. 


that  the  hump  on  the  back  rose  above  it,  and 
stood  out  behind  the  forward-crowded  shoulders. 
Much  of  the  deformity  of  the  body  was  hidden 
by  a  loose  blue  blouse,  and  wide  trousers  of  the 
same  material  covered  the  bent  and  shrunken 
legs.  The  feet,  resting  on  the  gray  doorstone, 
were  bare  and  brown. 

The  priest  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head. 
He  waked  instantly,  and  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
the  priest  sat  down  upon  the  doorstone  beside 
him. 

"  Why  would  you  be  so  late  ? "  asked  the  boy. 
"  And  the  noise  —  what  did  it  mean  ?  it  was  the 
Boete." 

"  Your  ears  are  sharp  as  your  wits,  Claude," 
said  the  priest.  "  You  have  heard  the  Bcete 
but  once  before,  why  should  you  remember 
it?" 

"  Once  is  enough,"  replied  the  boy.  "  Why 
did  it  sound }  —  But  you  are  hungry,  Father 
Petete,"  he  added,  and  stepping  up  over  the 
door-sill  into  the  house,  he  soon  returned  with 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROVAL. 


«9 


a  bowl  of  milk,  and  a  plate  containing  a  slice  of 
corn  bread. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  priest,  as  he  received 
the  proffered  food. 

"  I  have  been  sitting,"  replied  the  boy,  and 
with  both  hands  resting  upon  his  hips  he  stood 
waiting,  while  the  priest  broke  his  long  fast. 

"  Why  did  it  sound  ? "  he  asked  again,  when 
he  had  placed  the  emptied  bowl  and  plate  inside 
the  porch.     "  Is  it  an  enemy  ?" 

"  It  is  an  enemy,"  answered  the  priest. 

"  Tell  me  ! "  said  the  boy  eagerly. 

"There  is  little  to  tell  yet,"  replied  the  priest, 
—  "  much  to  be  done,  I  fear.  As  I  turned  the 
Horseshoe  Curve  on  my  way  down  the  river,  I 
heard  the  Boete,  and  knew  its  import.  At  Port 
Royal  there  was  much  excitement;  the  men 
were  crowded  around  the  guard  house,  and  the 
governor  and  De  Gautiens  were  talking  with 
them.  But  one  soldier,  and  a  habitant,  were 
down  at  the  signal  point,  and  soon  as  they  fired 
the  mortar  they  set  out  in  a  canoe  for  the  Fort. 


20 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  PORT  ROYAL. 


i   ' 


We  could  watch  them  coming  up,  but  it  was  an 
hour  of  midnight  before  they  reached  us.  A 
frigate,  two  sloops,  and  four  ketches  are  outside 
the  Basin ;  they  are  British,  and  the  Fort  will  be 
attacked." 

"  And  fighting  ? "  asked  the  boy. 
"  Little  fighting,  I  fear,"  replied  the  Father. 
"  We  are  in  a  poor  condition  to  fight.  There 
are  but  eighty-six  men  in  the  garrison,  twenty- 
odd  of  them  are  ailing ;  and  of  the  eighteen 
cannon  but  one  is  placed  in  battery.  The  forti- 
fications are  unfinished  —  and  we  are  wanting 
in  everything  requisite  to  our  defense." 

"  But  we  will  not  yield,"  said  the  boy,  stiffen- 
ing his  bent  little  body.  "We  will  fight  first! 
Why — but  no,  I  could  not  do  anything,  a  hunch- 
back —  oh !  how  I  hate  the  man  who  made  me 
one.  Why  did  he  not  step  on  me  and  finish 
killing  me  when  he  had  done  this  much?  I 
used  to  think  that  if  I  could  see  him  I  would 
lame  him,  and  make  him  like  me,  but  that  would 
not  be  revenge  enough ;  to  make  him  a  hunch- 


,^ 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


21 


back  when  he  is  a  man  is  nothing.  There  are 
things  a  man  may  do  to  make  others  respect  in- 
stead of  laugh  at  him,  and  maybe  strength  or 
something,  to  make  him  not  care  if  they  do 
laugh  —  but  to  be  a  boy  and  humpbacked !  to 
know  why  people  look  at  me  !  Oh  !  I  can't  tell 
you,  but  it  kills,  all  the  time,  and  you  don't  die. 
How  I  hate  the  man  ;  I  will  kill  him  sometime  !  " 

The  clear  brown  eyes,  Nature's  compensation 
for  his  distorted  body,  flashed,  and  grew  dark, 
as  he  walked  back  and  forth,  fast  as  his  little 
warped  legs  were  capable,  over  the  green  plot 
by  the  stone,  the  moonlight  on  his  bare  feet  and 
upturned  agonized  face.  A  look  of  distress 
came  over  the  features  of  the  priest,  but  he 
made  no  reply  to  the  vehement  outburst. 

"  Why  do  you  never  reprove  me  ?  "  asked  the 
boy,  looking  over  at  him  and  dropping  dccwn 
upon  the  stone  at  his  feet,  his  face  quieting  a 
little  under  the  loving  gaze  of  the  strong  man. 
"  All  the  others  reprove  me.  But  it  is  because 
you  do  not  that  I  love  you ;  you  are  the  only 


i 


22 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


comfort  I  have  ever  known,  or  will  know.  Oh ! 
I  think  about  it  often.  I  know  how  you  found 
me  ;  Paul  told  me." 

"  When  have  you  seen  Paul  ? "  asked  the 
priest,  with  a  scrutinizing  glance  at  the  boy. 
"  And  what  has  Paul  told  you  }  " 

"  When  you  were  up  the  Ottawa  for  the  king, 
I  staid  with  Paul  in  his  camp  one  day.  He  told 
me  about  the  place  where  1  was  born,  up  across 
the  Bay  to  Chignecto,  and  how  the  cruel  man 
who  was  strong  and  straight  himself,  took  me, 
a  baby,  and  tossed  me  in  the  air  to  see  how 
often  he  could  catch  me ;  and  when  I  dropped 
and  fell  on  the  wet  marsh  he  laughed  and  left 
me  there.  And  the  hurt  and  wet  made  me  sick, 
and  because  I  had  no  mother  to  take  care  of 
me  I  grew  this  way.  Then  he  told  me  how  you 
cajne,  when  I  was  three  years  old,  and  cried 
when  you  saw  me,  and  how  you  took  me  and 
brought  me  here  to  the  Fort,  all  the  way  in  your 
arms,  never  even  letting  Paul  rest  you  —  oh  1  I 
know  it  all  now,  and  I  think  about  it  often  — 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT    ROYAL. 


23 


about  your  crying  when  you  saw  me.  And  since 
I  knew  that,  I  think  a  little  less  about  the  one 
who  made  me  crooked  and  queer,  but  I  hate  just 
the  same  when  I  do  think ;  I  hate  him  !  Oh !  if 
I  only  knew  him  and  where  he  lives.  Paul  does 
not  know  —  he  said  he  did  not.  You  cried  — 
and  he  laughed.    Oh  !  how  I  hate  him." 

"Claude,"  said  the  priest,  laying  his  hand 
caressingly  on  the  boy's  small  head,  "  Claude, 
you  must  go  to  rest.  I  do  not  know  what  may 
happen  on  the  morrow;  the  enemy  is  at  our 
gates.  If  I  am  off  in  the  morning  before  you 
wake ;  do  not  be  afraid.  I  am  needed  at  the 
garrison.  The  governor  is  not  able  to  manage 
affairs,  and  De  Gautiens  is  not  the  man  to  offer 
advice  at  a  time  like  this.  I  will  not  go  to  sleep, 
I  will  sit  here  yet  awhile,  and  think." 

"  But  what  will  we  do  ? "  asked  the  boy. 

"  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  think  about," 
said  Father  Petete.  "  Go  now,  lie  down,  and  if 
I  do  not  return  by  night,  come  down  the  river 
to  the  big  flat   rock.     I  will    meet  you  there 


,-.^.-ir 


I         M 


24 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


or  send   you  word  where   I  am  and  what  to 
do." 

Used  to  obedience,  and  ready  always  to  serve 
or  indulge  unquestioned  the  slightest  wish  of 
the  priest,  the  boy  took  up  the  empty  bowl 
and  plate  and  clambered  over  the  doorstep. 

"  Stay,  Claude,"  said  the  Fathfer,  reaching  out 
his  strong  arm  and  putting  it  around  the  per- 
verted little  form.  "  If  it  should  be  that  I  do 
not  return —  I  will  more  than  likely  do  so — but 
you  know  you  and  I  always  plan  a  day  ahead, 
and  enemies  and  strange  ships  are  not  symbols 
of  security.  But  if  I  do  not  return,  you  will 
take  the  casket  of  gold  and  hide  it  in  some  safe 
place ;  then  go  up  the  river  to  Paul ;  he  will 
care  for  you.  While  I  am  alive,  though,  I  will 
care  for  you  myself.  Now,  go,  Claude,  and  wait 
the  events  of  another  day.  No,  do  not  say 
adieu  ;  I  will  see  you  again." 

Not  a  word  further  was  spoken  by  either. 
The  boy  went  into  the  house,  and  the  priest  re- 
mained outside,  walking  back  and  forth  the  nar- 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


25 


row  plot  until  dawn  lighted  up  the  wooded  path, 
when  he  set  out  on  his  way  to  Port  Royal  again. 
Obedient  to  his  command,  the  boy  started  at 
sunset  down  the  path  to  the  town,  remained 
about  the  great  rock  until  long  after  dark,  but 
met  neither  the  priest  nor  his  messenger.  Three 
days  passed ;  then  he  learned  from  the  habi- 
tants the  cause  of  the  Father's  failure  to  keep 
his  promise.  The  English  commander,  General 
Phipps,  had  anchored  within  half  a  league  of 
the  town,  and  sent  one  of  his  sloops  to  the 
Fort  with  a  trumpeter  on  board  to  summon  the 
governor  to  surrender.  Retaining  the  trumpe- 
ter, Meneval  sent  Father  Petete  to  the  com- 
mander, with  orders  to  refuse  surrender  unless 
accompanied  by  honorable  terms  of  capitulation. 
These  terms  Phipps  at  firs!;  stoutly  refused  ;  but 
finally  the  diplomacy  of  the  priest  prevailed, 
and  the  following  day  a  formal  surrender  by  the 
governor  was  accepted,  though  Phipps  refused 
to  sign  the  papers,  and  urged  that  his  word  as 
a  general  was  sufBcient  surety. 


|i!      1 


26 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


He  had  been  but  a  few  hours  ashore  however, 
when  he  saw  that  he  had  granted  honorable 
terms  to  a  garrison  he  could  easily  have  cap- 
tured had  he  known  its  helplessness,  and  he 
secretly  waited  a  pretext  for  breaking  his  parole 
of  surrender. 

This  he  soon  found  in  the  act  of  a  drunken 
soldier  removing  some  stores  from  the  guard 
house.  Declaring  that  it  was  a  breach  of  the 
terms,  he  allowed  his  soldiers  to  pillage  the 
town,  took  from  the  governor  and  De  Gautiens 
their  swords  and  put  them  and  the  priest  under 
guard  as  prisoners  of  war, 

A  week  elapsed,  and  still  no  word  came  from 
the  Father.  On  the  evening  of  the  seventh  day 
the  boy  had  walked  as  near  the  town  as  his 
strength  would  allow,  and  on  his  return  lay 
wearily  down  upon  the  top  of  the  rock  to  rest. 
Not  a  sound  stirred  the  air.  The  white  mist 
from  the  river  was  gathering  fast  and  thick  over 
the  pathway,  wrapping  the  trunks  of  the  tall  elms, 
hiding  the  tops  of  the  slim  alders,  and  spread- 


THE    HUNCHBACK    OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


27 


ing  like  a  silver  silent  river  over  the  broad 
marshes. 

Presently  a  step,  cautious  and  halting,  sounded 
on  the  path  toward  the  town.  Thinking  it  the 
step  of  the  priest,  the  boy's  first  impulse  was  to 
hurry  forward  to  meet  him,  but  fearing  on  a 
second  thought  that  it  might  be  an  enemy,  he 
crouched  low  and  waited  the  nearer  approach. 

When  the  dark  figure  emerged  from  the  mist- 
shrouded  pathway,  he  saw  that  it  was  not  the 
Father,  but  a  shorter,  stouter  man,  wearing  a 
long  heavy  cloak.  Soon  as  he  reached  the  rock, 
the  man  removed  the  cloak.     Concealed  beneath 

• 

it  were  two  iron  boxes  and  a  shovel.  He  had 
evidently  visited  the  spot  before,  for  he  made  no 
survey,  but  at  once  began  to  dig  in  the  deep  de- 
posit of  sand  and  mud  at  one  side  the  rock  ; 
and  so  rapidly  did  he  work  that  in  a  few  mo- 
ments he  had  buried  both  boxes  deep,  and  re- 
placed the  surface  earth. 

He  then  stepped  round  to  the  river  side  and 
threw  the  shovel  into  the  stream.     In  the  nearer 


28 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT    ROYAL. 


light  Claude  readily  recognized  him  as  the  French 
Secretary,  De  Gautiens.  He  had  often  seen  him 
in  company  with  the  priest,  and  clambering 
down  from  the  rock  he  hurriedly  approached 
him. 

The  man  started  and  clutched  the  boy  by  the 
shrunken  shoulders. 

"Why  are  you  spying  about  ?"  he  hissed  as  he 
drew  him  nearer.  "  Why,  it  is  the  Hunchback ! " 
he  muttered.  "What  do  you  here  ?  If  you  tell 
where  the  money  is  hid  I  will  throw  you  in  be- 
side the  shovel ! " 

"Where  is  Father  Petete  ? "  asked  the  boy, 
ignoring  both  the  question  and  the  threat. 

"  Safe  in  prison,"  said  Gautiens,  "  where  I 
will  be  in  another  half-hour,  unless  indeed  this 
cursed  delay  with  you  will  find  me  missing,  and 
then  I  will  be  at  the  point  of  a  musket.  Listen, 
Hunchback;  that  money  is  the  king's  money 
and  shall  not  be  spent  by  those  English  curs. 
Not  a  centime  is  my  own,  not  a  centime  would 
I  claim  for  my  own,  else  would  I  have  concealed 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


29 


and  carried  it  with  me.  I  have  not  another 
quarter-hour  to  hide  it  elsewhere,  or  even  dig  it 
up.  Will  you  swear  to  me  that  you  will  not 
tell  ? " 

"  I  will  promise.  I  need  not  swear,"  said  the 
boy. 

"No  promise!  that  is  what  Phipps  gave,  but 
what  was  Ms  word  worth  ?  Nay,  you  will  swear, 
or  by  Heaven  I  will  throw  you  into  the  river, 
and  you  would  not  make  even  so  much  headway 
as  a  devil-fish  to  get  out  over  those  slimy  banks  — 
and  you  are  not  unlike  one ;  ha,  ha !  " 

The  boy's  eyes  flashed  black,  and  he  pushed 
himself  cuickly  back  from  the  man's  hold.  "  I 
swear,"  he  said,  "  but  not  for  you.  I  swear  for 
the  sake  of  the  priest,  who  is  a  subject  of  the 
French  king,  and  in  the  name  of  the  God  who 
made  us  both.  My  body  is  crooked,  but  it  is 
straighter  than  your  mean  soul.  Now  tell  me 
more  about  the  Father." 

"Your  pardon,  boy,  for  my  taunt,"  said  Gau- 
tiens,  and  he  held  out  his  hand.     "  I  am  forced 


■  -'-^' '"'iwiiia 


30 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


|i         i     l!> 


to  believe  you,  for  my  own  life  is  in  jeopardy  if 
I  outrun  the  time.  Thirteen  hundred  louis-d'or 
lie  in  those  boxes.  If  I  live  I  will  return  and 
deliver  it  to  the  king ;  if  it  be  not  there  when  I 
seek  it  I  will  know  where  it  is  gone.  Now  for 
the  priest.  He  is  a  prisoner,  as  I  said  before. 
We  are  to  be  taken  to  Boston  and  showed  about 
as  captives  by  these  English  dogs.  By  strategy 
I  escaped  here  ;  by  strategy  I  may  escape  again. 
Remember  your  oath,  and  adieu  !  " 

The  boy  thrust  the  proffered  hand  aside. 
"  Tell  the  Father,"  he  said,  "  to  send  a  message 
to  me.  If  I  can  go  with  him  as  a  prisoner  I 
gladly  will ;  if  he  says  not,  then  I  remain  here, 
but  tell  him  to  send  a  message.  And  for  the 
king's  gold,  Monsieur  de  Gautiens*  I  will  make 
not  so  much  headway  to  get  it  as  a  devil-fish ; 
ha,  ha!" 

The  Frenchman  hurried  away,  and  the  boy 
threw  himself  down  upon  the  ground  and  burst 
into  bitter  weeping.  The  long  anxiety  of  the 
fortnight,  the  sudden  intelligence  that  the  priest 


J 


THE   HUNCHBACK    OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


31 


was  to  go  away  and  leave  him  alone,  and  the 
cruel  ridicule  of  the  Frenchman,  reminding  him 
of  all  he  would  meet  now  that  his  only  friend 
was  taken  from  him,  was  too  great  a  strain  on 
his  worn  spirit.     For  hours  he  lay  there. 

At  dawn  came  the  message  —  the  priest  him- 
self, guarded  by  two  of  the  British  soldiers. 

The  boy  did  not  see  him,  nor  know  of  his 
approach  till  he  felt  himself  in  the  strong  arms 
that  had  carried  him  so  often  over  the  rough 
ways  the  two  had  taken  together;  the  strong 
arms  that  had  shielded  every  harm  from  the 
warped  and  weakened  body. 

"  Claude,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  have  but  five 
minutes  to  speak  with  you.  I  paid  for  it  at  the 
price  of  my  gold  cross  and  chain,  but  it  was 
cheap.  To-day  we  sail.  You  cannot  accom- 
pany me ;  I  ha\  e  pleaded  in  vain.  But  caii  you 
wait  till  I  return  ?  I  do  not  say  when  that  will 
be,  but  I  will  sometime  come  to  you  myself,  or 
send  you  message  where  I  am  and  how  you  can 
come  to  me.    You  have  heard  from  the  habi- 


32 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


I 


!  hi 


tants  how  the  treaty  was  broken,  and  know  why 
I  failed  to  meet  you  here  before.  You  will  stay 
in  the  house ;  until  autumn  there  are  stores 
enough.  If  I  provide  no  other  means,  and  you 
need  it,  use  the  gold  I  left  in  your  hands ;  I 
cannot  take  it  with  me  and  it  must  still  be  left 
in  your  care  —  it  belongs  to  the  Church,  Claude, 
but  I  can  repay  what  you  use.  Have  you  ccn- 
cealed  it  as  I  told  you  ? " 

The  boy  did  not  speak,  but  with  a  nod  of 
assent  clung  stirless  and  silent  to  the  priest's 
hand. 

"  When  winter  comes,  if  you  are  no  longer 
content,  and  I  have  sent  you  no  message,  go  up 
the  river  to  Paul ;  he  will  care  for  you  as  he 
would  care  for  me,  and  he  would  give  his  life 
for  me.  Now,  farewell,"  and  bending  down, 
the  priest  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  the 
white  forehead,  and  turned  toward  the  soldiers. 

All  this  while  the  boy  had  not  spoken,  nor 
did  he  now.  He  turned  away  from  the  stare  of 
the  men,  and  with  but  one  look  at  the  face  of  the 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


33 


priest,  sat  down  again  on  the  side  of  the  rock 
and  watched  them  disappear  down  the  stream, 
the  tall  robed  figure  ahead,  the  two  shorter  ones 
following. 

At  sunrise,  a  score  and  more  of  men  passed 
him  on  their  way  to  Port  Royal  to  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance,  and  on  their  return  in  the  late 
afternoon  the  little  forsaken  Hunchback  still  sat 
by  the  rock.  They  stopped  to  tell  him  of  the 
sailing  of  the  ships,  and  the  departure  of  the 
priest.  This  news,  and  hunger,  roused  him. 
He  rose  and  with  slow  steps  followed  the  men, 
and  by  nightfall  was  alone  in  the  quiet  little 
house. 


'-it 


n. 


August,  and  the  twentieth  day. 

Black,  tall-masted,  long  and  narrow  were  the 
two  vessels  at  anchor  in  the  outer  Basin.  Black, 
and  narrov,  were  the  two  long,  low  boats  which 
put  off  from  their  sides.     Black,  with  white  skull 


im^ 


34 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


■  l:  t 


iill 


I 


and  crossbones  was  the  flag  that  hung  limp  and 
guilty  at  the  head  of  the  tall  mainmast.  The 
British  flag  was  flying  from  the  Fort,  but  the 
men  in  the  black  boats  had  no  fear  of  its 
defenders. 

No  warning  of  the  vessel's  approach  had 
reached  the  inhabitants  of  Port  Royal,  nor  had 
they  time  to  flee  before  the  landing  of  the  boats. 

They  who  dared  fight  the  pirates  did  not  see 
the  morning  sun.  Two  men  who  refused  to 
show  the  treasure  of  the  chapel  were  hanged  on 
a  limb  of  the  oak-tree  near  the  Fort.  A  woman 
who  refused  like  information,  was  roasted  alive, 
with  her  little  children,  in  her  log  hut.  Twenty 
houses  were  pillaged  and  burned. 

The  smoke  of  the  burning  buildings  alarmed 
the  inhabitants  up  Lequille  River.  The  Hunch- 
back had  spent  most  of  the  day  in  the  little 
house  of  the  priest,  which  he  still  occupied. 
Oppressed  with  unusual  disquiet,  he  had  gone 
much  earlier  than  was  his  wont,  down  the  river 
to  the  big  rock.    When  the  alarm  reached  the 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


35, 


settlers,  he  was  missing,  and  in  their  haste  to 
escape  to  the  thick  woods  of  the  mountain,  no 
one  made  search  for  him. 

Coiled  up  on  the  top  of  the  rock  he  lay,  his 
face  turned  toward  the  spot  where  the  French- 
man had  buried  the  money.  It  was  his  daily 
resv^rt,  and  his  usual  pastime.  Never  once  since 
the  terrible  night  when  he  saw  the  treasure 
buried,  had  these  vigils  been  unkept,  and  never 
once  had  he  even  parted  the  rank  grass  which 
now  grew  abundant  over  the  hidden  gold. 

But  a  deeper  concern  than  the  care  of  the 
Frenchman's  treasure  filled  his  thoughts  through 
all  the  long  days.  He  could  not  remember 
where  he  had  concealed  the  casket  which  con- 
tained the  gold  of  the  priest.  He  knew  that  in 
the  early  part  of  the  day  the  priest  had  left  him, 
he  had  buried  it  securely.  But  the  anger  and 
fright  of  the  interview  with  De  Gautiens,  and 
the  fact  of  the  greater  treasure  left  in  his  power, 
had  united  to  obliterate  all  knowledge  of  the 
other.     As  he  lay  wearily  thinking  of  it  on  this 


n 


i 


ii 

'  If 


36 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROYAI,. 


!   '!ii 


evening  of  the  twentieth,  vainly  trying  to  recall 
some  incident  of  the  act,  he  fell  asleep. 

Waking  suddenly,  he  saw  red  flames  reflected 
from  the  sky  above  the  mountain,  and  smoke 
rolling  above  the  trees  in  the  valley.  Hardly 
had  he  time  to  reach  the  edge  of  the  rock  when 
a  group  of  men  turned  the  curve  of  the  path 
and  came  in  full  view  only  a  few  yards  from 
him. 

"  The  Devil !  "  exclaimed  the  foremost  man, 
starting  back  as  he  sighted  the  Hunchback  out- 
lined against  the  lurid  light. 

"The  Devil,  or  one  of  his  fish  out  of  the 
river!"  said  another. 

"Take  him  on  to  the  Settlement  and  fire  him ; 
a  knotty  stick  makes  easy  burning!"  said  a 
third. 

"No,"  said  the  leader,  a  black-haired  man 
with  a  short  swora  in  his  right  hand,  "  let  him 
live ;  that  will  be  torture  enough  for  him.  Give 
him  a  taste  of  the  water,  though ;  it  may  untan- 
gle his  snarled  body  to  climb  up  over  these 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


37 


', 


slimy  red  banks  —  tumble  him  in,  men,  and  let 
us  on  to  the  houses !" 

The  boy  made  no  outcry,  no  resistance,  as 
the  rough  men  drew  near  to  drag  him  from  the 
rock.  It  was  against  his  nature  to  yield,  and 
he  had  courage  to  defend  his  life,  but  the  cruel 
jests  upon  his  crooked  body  had  weakened  his 
courage  and  made  him  powerless  to  speak  or 
act.  Not  a  day  since  the  priest  had  left  him, 
but  he  had  to  meet  this  bitter  reminder  in  some 
form.  While  the  Father  was  there  he  had  rarely 
gone  about  alone,  and  hardly  had  he  known  a 
taunt,  so  shielded  had  he  been  by  the  care  and 
love  of  the  strong  man. 

Inert  and  passive,  all  his  fear  lost  in  bitter 
humiliation,  he  stood  and  faced  without  flinch, 
the  men  who  reached  with  bloody  hands,  and 
hauling  from  the  great  rock  so  often  his  resting 
place,  dropped  him  down  the  muddy  banks  into 
the  river  below,  now  narrow  and  shallow,  and 
waiting  for  the  tide  to  fill  its  channel. 

The  pirate  crew  jeered  as  he  slid  down  the 


A  VI 


38 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


slimy  sides.  Then  they  went  on  up  the  river  to 
finish  their  cruel  work.  The  rough  ridicule  of 
the  men,  and  the  recollection  of  Gautien's  gibe, 
deprived  him  of  his  strength,  and  he  would 
have  died  there,  had  not  the  mere  animal  in- 
stinct of  preservation  at  last  impelled  him  to 
crawl  through  the  red  mud  to  the  river's  rim. 
There  he  lay,  exhausted,  until  morning,  when 
the  warm  August  sunshine  dried  his  mud-caked 
clothing,  and  revived  his  chilled  and  stiffened 
limbs. 

Half  bewildered,  he  rose  and  walked  toward 
the  Settlement.  Nothing  but  smoking  ruins 
met  his  sight.  Not  a  house  was  left  standing. 
His  shelter  was  gone,  his  stores  gone  ;  now  was 
the  time  to  go  to  the  faithful  Indian;  and  he  at 
once  set  out  through  the  thick  forest  to  the 
encampment  on  the  mountain  side. 

The  river  above  tide  reach  was  a  tumbling, 
twisting  stream.  Along  its  edge  was  the  well- 
worn  trail,  half-hidden  at  times  by  thick  under- 
brush.   Toilsome  and  slow  along  this  rough 


it 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


39 


footway,  he  clambered  to  the  wigwam  of  Paul, 
who  welcomed  him  with  fond  and  kind  words. 
Medicine  Paul,  he  was  called.  His  wigwam 
was  in  a  lonely  spot,  half  a  mile  above  the  en- 
campment. When  his  people  were  ailing,  he 
visited  them  and  cured  them ;  when  they  were 
well  he  seldom  entered  their  camps.  His  skill 
as  a  doctor  had  spread  beyond  the  woods. 
During  the  previous  winter  when  a  strange 
disease  had  baffled  their  own  physician,  the 
garrison  had  gladly  sought  his  services. 

It  was  well  he  had  skill,  for  the  Hunchback 
waked  in  the  morning  with  a  high  fever.  For 
weeks  he  lay  in  the  wigwam,  knowing  not  even 
the  Indian,  talking  sometimes  of  the  priest,  re- 
hearsing the  scene  of  the  parting,  and  sometimes 
still,  and  picking  restlessly  at  the  soft  blan- 
coating  which  formed  his  bed. 

The  leaves  had  fallen  when  he  grew  strong 
enough  to  one  day  walk  again  down  the  narrow 
footpath  to  the  rock,  He  found  the  treasure 
undisturbed,  the  grass  was  dead   and  matted 


It 


f^p 


40 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


I 

In 


over  the  spot  where  it  was  buried.  Every  third 
day  after  this,  he  made  the  toilsome  journey. 
As  winter  approached  he  started  earlier,  and 
returned  later.  Often  the  Indian  went  to  meet 
him,  and  carried  him  back,  the  shrivelled  form 
hardly  seeming  a  weight  to  the  sinewy  frame 
that  could  sling  a  caribou,  and  tramp  fresh  trails 
untired. 

Paul  had  asked  no  questions  as  to  these 
journeys.  He  received  him  when  he  came  back 
from  them,  fed  and  cared  for  him,  and  set  the 
best  of  the  food  before  him  ;  and  on  his  return 
from  the  trading  station,  brought  always  some 
delicacy  which  he  did  not  share  in  the  eating. 
He  knew  the  boy  waited  for  the  priest,  and  he 
knew,  too,  that  unless  he  came  soon,  the  waiting 
and  the  coming  would  be  vain. 

The  painful  hunted  look  on  the  white  face 
when  the  boy  came  to  him,  was  no  longer  there ; 
He  was  never  taunted  now.  The  stern  wordless 
love  of  the  Indian,  and  the  quiet  efficacy  of  the 
great  trees  had  turned  his  bitter  thoughts  into 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROVAL. 


4» 


peaceful  channels,  and  he  spoke  of  his  deformity 
but  seldom. 

The  two  talked  together  of  many  things,  but 
oftenest  of  the  priest.  Sometimes  the  boy  would 
coax  to  hear  again  the  story  of  the  time  he 
found  him  and  carried  him  away  in  his  arms, 
crying  because  he  was  small  and  crooked. 
Then  he  would  himself  rehearse  that  other 
scene,  as  his  imagination  had  pictured  it,  of  the 
cruel,  laughing  man ;  but  the  Indian,  quick  to 
perceive  the  look  that  came  over  the  thin  white 
face,  brought  his  mind  back  always  to  the 
priest.  And  as  the  long  winter  wore  away  the 
boy  grew  more  reconciled  to  his  weakness. 

Early  in  the  spring  a  message  came  from  the 
Father.  Only  the  words  given  to  Paul  by  an- 
other Indian,  but  he  had  it  from  another,  and 
he  from  another,  till  the  province  and  the  seas 
were  spanned  by  this  telephone  of  the  universe : 

"  The  Father  will  sail  from  France  in  May, 
Wait" 

Only  by  word  of  mouth  came  the  message, 


5* 


1^: 

I 


42 


THE    HUNCHBACK    OF    PORT    ROYAL. 


Uliii 


Ilii 


m 

Hi 
I 


i! 


but  starting  from  the  lips  of  the  Jesuit,  and 
carried  by  as  trusty  ones,  the  viewless  line  was 
never  broken,  nor  the  true  magnetic  current  once 
disturbed. 

The  message  had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the 
boy.     He  grew  suddenly  better. 

The  sunny  days  of  May  passed  into  the  silent 
summer  months.  The  sudden  strength  failed, 
and  again  the  journeys  to  the  rock  had  to  be 
given  up.  Sometimes  for  a  week  he  never 
stirred  from  the  blancoating.  Then  the  Indian 
would  carry  him  to  the  doorway  of  the  wigwam, 
and  often  into  the  woods  where  he  went  to 
gather  his  medicines.  This  would  give  him 
new  strength,  and  he  would  try  to  walk  down 
the  river  to  the  rock,  but  Paul  would  overtake 
him  and  carry  him,  and  leave  him  alone  there 
for  hours.  A  new  thought  troubled  him  as  he 
lay  there  in  the  golden  waning  f^.ays  of  autumn. 
If  he  should  die  before  the  Father  came  should 
he  tell  Paul  of  the  buried  treasure  ?  Should  he 
even  tell  the  priest  >    If  Gautiens  were  dead, 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF  PORT    ROYAL. 


43 


some  one  must  know  that  the  money  could  be 
given  to  the  French  king. 

But  the  thought  which  most  weakened  him 
was  that  he  could  not  yet  remember  where  he 
had  hidden  the  gold  of  the  priest.  Would  the 
priest  believe  him  if  he  told  him  this  ?  And 
should  he  leave  the  word  with  Paul,  if  the  priest 
came  too  late  ? 

September  and  October  passed,  and  the  hope 
of  the  Father's  coming  grew  faint  and  weak. 
So  did  the  worn  little  body.  But  he  lay  always 
with  his  face  toward  the  opening  of  the  camp, 
that  he  might  first  see  him  if  he  did  come. 

Meanwhile,  the  priest  had  been  making  every 
effort  in  his  power  to  keep  his  promise  of  re- 
turning. The  winter  was  occupied  in  pleading, 
and  by  spring  he  obtained  of  the  French  mon- 
arch an  order  for  Villebon  to  proceed  with  a 
force  to  retake  the  colony  of  Acadie.  Then  it 
was  that  he  sent  the  message  to  the  boy.  A 
week  later,  he  followed  the  message,  in  the 
Afrikede  Solon^  the  fastest  sailing  vessel  of  the 


si'j 


'  iillit 


44 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


lilli 


age,  aiid  the  beginning  of  July  saw  them  in 
Quebec.  But  from  apprehension  of  an  attack 
on  the  city,  by  the  English,  Frontenac  detained 
the  vessel  several  months,  and  it  was  the  twenty- 
sixth  of  November  when  she  arrived  at  Port 
Royal,  accompanied  by  a  sloop  of  war. 

They  found  the  English  flag  flying  from 
the  Fort,  but  no  Englishmen  to  defend  it, 
and  the  French  soldiers  landed  without  resist- 
ance. With  the  soldiers  was  Father  Petete. 
Soon  as  they  reached  the  shore  he  proceeded 
up  the  river  to  the  wigwam  of  Paul.  Perriot, 
the  lormer  French  Governor  of  Port  Royal,  had 
acquainted  him  with  the  visit  of  the  pirates  and 
their  work  of  pillage,  so  it  was  with  no  surprise 
he  saw  the  desolate  spot  where  his  own  and  the 
other  houses  of  the  Settlement  had  stood. 

The  day  was  one  of  the  warm  mellow  days 
that  brighten  November  with  memories  of  the 
summer  past ;  and  it  was  noon  when  the  priest 
reached  the  wigwam. 

Paul   was   not   there.      The  Hunchback  lay 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


45 


alone  on  the  blancoated  bed  of  boughs  at  the 
head  of  the  camp,  his  face  to  the  opening.  But 
the  brown  eyes  were  closed  in  sleep,  and  the 
intent  ears  that  had  listened  so  long  for  this  step 
were  dull  to  its  approach.  The  face  looked 
pitifully  shrunken  and  white,  and  the  fair  hair 
had  been  left  to  grow,  and  hung  about  his 
humped  shoulders.  He  was  slowly  fading  away, 
no  pain,  no  visible  cause  —  a  loss  of  strength 
from  day  to  day,  and  life  only  kept  in  the  body 
by  this  strong  desire  to  wait  for  the  coming  of 
the  priest. 

No  thought  of  the  boy's  death  had  entered 
the  priest's  mind,  in  his  care  to  reach  him. 
He  had  looked  forward  to  his  future  and 
planned  it  for  him ;  and  in  fulfillment  of  the 
plans  had  come  now  to  take  h'm  hack  to  France. 

The  sudden  shock  of  seeing  him  thus,  the 
pathos  of  the  thin  white  fa  jc  resting  upon  the 
withered  little  hand,  the  shrunken  deformity  of 
the  poor  wasted  body,  and  .he  knowledge  of  all 
the  brave  spirit  had  foregone,  overcame  him, 


3  i 


!«:; 
'^'1 


^iPSl 


46 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


and  he  sank  down  upon  the  ground  beside  the 
bed,  and  wept  as  he  had  not  since  that  other 
day  so  long  ago. 

The  boy  waked,  and  started  up  with  a  glad 
cry  of  recognition. 

"  I  told  you  to  wait,  and  I  would  come,"  said 
the  Father  gently,  holding  the  little  hands  firmly 
in  his  own. 

"  I  waited,"  said  the  boy. 

"And  I  came,"  replied  the  priest.  Then  he 
told  to  him  all  the  long  adventure  of  the  journey. 
When  he  had  finished,  the  Indian  entered  the 
camp.  He  had  sighted  the  priest  far  down  the 
river,  but  had  left  the  two  alone  for  their  first 
greetings.  Now  he  came  for  his  own  welcome. 
There  was  no  distinction  of  race ;  the  priest  laid 
his  white  hand  in  the  hard  brown-colored  ones 
of  the  Indian,  and  there  was  a  moment  of  silence. 
Each  gazed  in  the  other's  face.  There  had  been 
a  bond  of  life  and  death  between  them  once, 
and  neither  of  them  could  ever  forget  or  suffer 
a  breach  of  it. 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF    PORT   ROYAL. 


47 


"  I  would  have  come  sooner  had  it  been  pos- 
sible," said  the  priest.  "  But  1  knew  you  would 
care  for  him,  and  I  felt  relieved  in  knowing  also 
that  with  the  gold  the  boy  had,  you  could  both 
be  comfortable  for  years,  had  I  not  been  able 
to  reach  you." 

The  Indian  glanced  at  the  boy,  and  the  boy 
ioDked  first  in  his  face,  then  over  at  the  priest. 
'There  has  been  no  gold  to  use.  Father  Petete," 
hij  said,  "I  cannot  remember  where  I  hid  it  — 
O,  will  you  believe  me,  and  not  think  I  have 
stolen  it?  Truly,  I  cannot  remember  —  but 
do  you  believe  me  }  "  and  he  grasped  excitedly 
the  priest's  hands. 

"  Hush,  Claude,"  said  the  priest  gently. 
"Why  1*1  h:^  '  I  not  believe  you  ?  Did  you  ever 
dec*?"'  'i  n  e  i"    Tel!  me  about  it." 

*'x  kji'  nothing  to  tell,"  he  said,  "except 
tnat  I  took  it  from  the  house  the  day  you  left 
me,  and  buried  it  somewhere  —  the  day  before 
the  night  you  met  me  at  the  rock.  And  your 
going  away  and  leaving  me  alone  —  and  some- 


IV^tT 


48 


THE  HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


thing  else  that  happened  that  night  to  frighten 
me,  made  me  forget,  someway.  I  have  tried, 
every  day,  to  remember,  but  it  will  not  come  to 
me,  and  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  I  lied, 
that  is  what  has  made  me  weak ;  I  think  so  much 
about  it.  But  no  matter  how  much  I  think,  it 
will  not  come  to  me  even  my  head  cannot  do 
anything  straight,"  he  with  a  smile,  "feven 

my  head  is  kinked,  like  my  body." 

For  answer  the  priest  laid  his  hand  with  the 
old  soothing  gesture  upon  the  boy's  forehead. 

He  smiled  again.  "I  do  not  rave  about  it 
now.  Father,"  he  said,  "  hardly  ever  now.  Paul 
has  told  me  the  story  so  often,  that  I  see  and 
think  only  of  you,  and  not  of  the  one  who  made 
me  humpbacked." 

A  glance  passed  between  the  two  men. 

"  I  have  always  thought  that  I  would  see  him 
sometime,  and  hurt  him,"  continued  the  boy, 
not  noticing  the  glance.  "  But  I  do  not  think 
that  now  —  going  so  much  sooner  makes  it  all 
different  —  and  then  what  would  be  the  use; 


THE   HUNCHBACK  OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


49 


nothing  I  could  do  or  say,  could  make  him 
understand  what  it  has  been  to  me,  and  I  would 
not  like  for  him  to  half-know.  I  thought  that 
after  I  first  began  to  feel  less  ugly  to  him  ;  but 
lately,  I  have  not  wanted  to  even  tell  him  if  I 
could  —  I  almost  think  I  could  see  him  and  not 
say  a  word.  I  never  believed  I  could  get  to  feel 
this  way,  but  it  is  all  so  different,  everything  is 
so  different  when  you  have  days  and  days  to 
think  about  it,  and  know  you  are  going  so  soon. 
But  I  would  like  to  prove  myself,  only  to  see  if 
1  could  look  at  him  and  the  old  hate  gone." 

A  shadow  clouded  the  face  of  the  priest,  He 
opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  closed  them  again 
without  a  sound. 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  do,  and  he  may 
have  been  sorry,  though  Paul  said  he  laughed. 
O,  how  could  he  laugh ! "  and  the  thin  face  lit  up 
for  an  instant  with  the  old  fire  and  hatred.  As 
instantly  did  it  fade.  "  But  if  he  has  been  sorry 
since,  I  would  like  him  to  know  I  don't  hate  so 
much,  now.     I  was  sure  yesterday,  I  could  for- 


I 


S 


'  t  !■;■'"- 


SO 


THE    HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT  ROYAL. 


m 


give  him — but  it  hurts  so,  when  I  talk  about  it, 
that  Tm  almost  afraid  now  I  could  not.  Though 
if  he  is  sorry,  I  would  like  just  to  let  him  know. 
O  I  wish  I  had  not  spoken  about  it ! " 

The  Indian  rose,  and  went  over  and  stood  in 
the  opening,  his  face  turned  from  the  two  in  the 
wigwam.  And  the  priest  hid  his  own  in  his 
hands  as  he  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  the 
boy. 

"  Claude,"  he  said,  "  Claude,  I  think  he  does 
know." 

The  boy  looked  up  with  wonder  at  the  words. 
"  You  have  seen  him  ? "  he  asked,  "  and  told 
him  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  priest.  "  I  mean  that  he 
knows  —  that  you  have  shown  him  —  Claude,  I 
—  Tell  him,  Paul,  I  cannot." 

The  Indian  turned  and  faced  the  two,  the 
boy  eager  with  wonder,  the  man  weak  with 
humility. 

"  Tell  mp,  Paul,"  repeated  the  boy.  "  What 
does  he  mean  ? " 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


SI 


"  He  mean,"  said  the  Indian  slowly,  "  both 
men  one  man — one  who  laugh,  one  who  cry, 
same  man  —  first  laugh,  then  cry,  laugh  last 
only  little  while,  cry  last  all  years,  to  now — cry 
wash  laugh  all  out,  no  more  laugh,  only  big  sorry 
now,  big  sorry  all  time  since  the  cry — only  one 
man,  man  who  cry." 

The  boy  understood.  His  white  face  turned 
whiter,  then  flamed  for  a  moment  with  passion, 
and  faded  again  to  its  wonted  paleness.  But 
he  did  not  speak.  Outside,  the  glow  of  the 
moon  had  changed  to  gray,  and  the  green 
shadows  from  the  firs  entered  the  wigwam  and 
cast  a  gloom  over  all. 

A  step  broke  the  twigs  of  the  footpath,  and  a 
man  pushed  past  the  Indian  and  entered  the 
camp.  It  was  the  French  Secretary  Des  Gau- 
tiens.  He  had  come  to  Port  Royal  in  the  same 
ship  with  the  priest,  but  had  spoken  no  word 
concerning  the  buried  treasure.  Making  no 
answer  now  to  the  priest's  inquiring  look,  he 
went  direct  to  the  bed  where  the  Hunchback 


52 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


■':  m 


lay.  "Your  pardon  again,  lad,"  he  said.  "The 
money  is  safe.  You  are  made  of  stuff  like  the 
rock  itself.  Your  pardon  for  my  hard  words 
and  rough  usage." 

This  time  the  boy  did  not  refuse  the  proffered 
hand.  But  filled  with  other  thoughts,  he  made 
no  reply  and  listened  silently,  while  Gautiens  re- 
lated the  story  of  the  hidden  treasure.  "  The 
king  shall  give  him  a  generous  share,"  said  the 
secretary,  "  and  he  can  live  in  luxury  the  rest 
of  his  days,  and  know  that  it  pays  to  have  a 
straight  soul,  if  the  body  be  bent." 

At  these  words  the  priest  lost  his  interest  in 
the  Frenchman's  tale,  and  turned  again  to  the 
Hunchback. 

"  Now  if  I  could  but  remember  where  the 
casket  is  hid,"  said  the  boy  wearily,  as  he  met 
the  Father's  glance.  "  If  I  could  do  that,  then  I 
would  have  done  all  the  things  I  waited  for  — 
all  the  things." 

"Not  all,  Claude,"  interposed  the  priest. 
"  Not  all,  there  is  one  thing  yet." 


THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   PORT   ROYAL. 


53 


"It  seems  as  if  I  might  remember,"  he  wearily 
continued,  unmindful  of  'the  Father's  words,  "  it 
seems  as  if  I  might,  but  I  cannot."  And  a 
shadow  that  was  not  from  the  firs,  settled  on 
the  white  face. 

"  There  is  one  thing  yet  you  have  not  done," 
said  the  priest  again.  "  Can  you  not  do  it  ?  I 
have  no  right  to  it,  but  say  it  to  comfort  me. 
Think  a  moment,  and  say  it." 

"  I  am  thinking,  all  the  time,"  he  replied  — 
"  all  the  time,  and  —  most,  about  the  man  who 
picked  me  up  —  and  cried.  Oh,  if  I  could  but 
remember  where  the  gold  is !  I  can  almost 
remember  —  now  —  almost  "  And  the  eyes 
brightened  for  an  instant,  and  then  the  light 
faded  from  them  forever.  And  the  contorted 
little  form  was  no  longer  a  humiliation  to  the 
brave  spirit  it  had  imprisoned. 

The  buried  treasure  was  delivered  to  the 
French  monarch.  The  reward  promised  the 
Hunchback, Des  Gautiens himself  received;  and 
jn  further  recognition  of  his  act  of  integrity,  he 


I  ■ , 


54 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  PORT  ROYAL. 


was  given  the  high  office  of  Commissaire  Ordon- 
nateur,  which  he  held  until  his  death. 


The  casket  of  gold  has  never  yet  been  found. 
Some  who  tell  the  story  say  that  the  Indian 
knew  its  hiding  place  and  reserved  it  for  his 
own  people.  Others  think  the  priest  himself 
secured  it  before  he  returned  to  France.  More 
than  one  adventurer  has  sought  it,  and  many 
believe  that  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
great  rock  it  will  yet  be  found. 


II. 


THE   KADUSKAK  GIANT. 

SEPTEMBER,  1795.  Breeze-kissed  and 
azure-crested,  in  the  depths  of  the  "  forest 
primeval "  lay  the  great  Lake  Rosignol.  Sev- 
enty square  miles  of  placid  pure  fresh  water, 
stretching  out  into  deep  shadowy  bays  and 
gemmed  with  a  hundred  tree-crowned  islands. 
Over  its  rippling  surface  swam  the  wary  wild 
fowls,  and  down  to  its  white  sand  shores  came 
the  untamed  beasts  to  drink  of  its  limpid  waters. 
"  Rosignol  "  was  the  name  of  the  first  white 
man  who  looked  upon  this,  the  largest  area  of 
fresh  water  in  Nova  Scotia.  In  the  latter  part 
of  the  sixteenth  century  he  traded  with  the  In- 
dians who  lived  along  the  river  that  runs  from 
this  lake  to  the  ocean.     De  Monts,  commander 

55 


1 


r 


S6 


THE    KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


mtm 


i'  1  >i 


of  the  French  colonization  emprise  in  1604, 
found  him  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  robbed 
him  of  his  stores.  He  wandered  of!  into  the 
great  forest  and  finally  died,  on  a  small  island 
near  the  north  end  of  this  lake,  and  his  name 
like  a  lost  spirit  has  ever  since  clung  to  its  blue 
waters  and  echoed  among  its  surrounding  hills. 

On  the  western  shore  is  a  deep  and  narrow 
rapid  stream  or  channel,  which  discharges  into 
Lake  Rosignol  the  great  volume  of  water  of  the 
chain  of  lakes  to  the  north.  This  stream  cuts 
through  a  narrow  ridge  of  land  which  forms  a 
dam,  holding  back  the  water  and  raising  it 
many  feet  above  the  lower  lake,  hence  the  roar- 
ing rapidity  of  the  water,  designated  by  the 
Indians  "  Kaduskak,"  which  means  "  screecher." 

To  the  north  of  this  Kaduskak  was  a  great 
hard-wood  hill,  rising  toward  the  sky  like  the 
dome  of  some  vast  edifice,  throwing  giant  shad- 
ows deep  down  in  the  dusky  water  of  Rosignol  on 
its  southeast,  and  spreading  acres  of  reflected 
forest  over  the  twilight  surface  of  the  silvery 


1   ill 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


57 


lakes  to  the  north  and  west.  Here  for  centuries 
out  of  memory  the  wild  men  of  these  regions 
had  buried  their  dead.  The  great  beeches  and 
oaks  had  never  felt  the  shriveling  smoke  of  the 
camp  fire  or  echoed  the  twang  of  the  hunter's 
bow ;  the  whole  hill  was  Sacred  Ground. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  of  this  twentieth  day  of 
September,  1795,  two  canoes,  each  containing 
a  white  man  and  two  Indians,  came  up  Lake 
Rosignol  and  landed  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  near 
the  north  bank  of  the  Kaduskak. 

The  white  men  were  Frenchmen  lately  from 
France.  They  had  come  to  this  place  from 
Liverpool  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  had 
there  secured  the  services  of  the  Indians,  who 
were  old  hunters  and  experienced  guides,  to 
tako  them  up  the  lakes. 

The  Indians  were  not  long  in  finding  out  that 
the  handsome  athletic  men  whom  they  served 
were  not  only  practiced  huntsmen,  but  knew 
more  than  they  told  about  the  locality  chosen 
for  the  hunting  ground.    For  the  strangers  had 


t:  ' 


H 


I  iTf 


fir 


S8 


THE    KADUSKAK  GIANT. 


themselves  selected  the  place  to  land,  directed 
where  the  camp  should  be  built,  and  designated 
the  rivers  and  lakes  and  point  of  land  with  the 
names  by  which  they  were  known  to  the  Indian 
people.  And  though  they  enjoyed  as  keenly  as 
their  guides  the  exciting  contests  with  the  moose 
which  the  Indians  with  their  long  birchbark  cones 
would  call  up  just  at  daydawn,  they  spent  most 
of  their  time  alone,  and  often  for  whole  days 
staid  on  the  great  hill,  among  the  graves  under 
the  fine  old  trees,  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

One  day  one  of  the  Indians  who  saw  them 
thus  raking  among  the  dead  leaves,  said  :  "  Long 
ago  —  one  time  —  Indian  findem  here  very  fine 
small  gun  —  maybe  you  findem  nother." 

The  men  were  at  once  eager  and  full  of 
questions  about  the  gun,  and  learned  that  it 
had  been  picked  up  by  an  Indian,  then  Chief 
of  the  Micmacs,  named  Alexis,  and  that  he 
lived  at  Liverpool  Ponhook,  now  called  Indian 
Gardens.  It  was  a  distance  of  about  nine  miles, 
and  they  at  once  set  out  for  the  place. 


THE    KADUSKAK  GIANT. 


59 


Far  back  as  tradition  ran,  this  spot  had  been 
a  favorite  dwelling-place  for  the  red  men  of 
Acadia.  South  of  it  and  swarming  with  fish, 
ran  the  great  river  to  the  ocean.  North  of  it, 
flecked  with  wild  fowl,  was  the  majestic  Rosig- 
nol.  East  and  west  were  vast  forests  filled  with 
moose  and  caribou  and  smaller  game.  Thus 
surrounded  and  supported,  here  lived  and  loved 
and  died  these  wild  forest  dwellers,  now  nearly 
exterminated. 

The  old  chief  was  soon  found  and  received 
his  visitors  like  one  who  extends  rather  than 
accepts  patronage. 

At  first  he  stolidly  refused  to  let  the  strangers 
even  see  the  small  gun.  A  rich  present  at 
length  persuaded  him,  and  he  brought  from  its 
place  of  safety  a  pistol  of  large  caliber,  richly 
mounted  in  gold  and  silver  and  mother-of-pearl, 
such  as  was  carried  about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century  by  the  French  nobility. 

The  firearm  was  in  good  keeping,  and  evi- 
dently highly  prized  by  its  present  possessor. 


H 


If 


it 


6o 


THE    KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


The  Frenchmen  offered  to  buy  it,  at  the  In- 
dian's own  price.  **  Me  no  sell  'em,"  said  the 
chief.  "  Me  find  'em  —  no  mine.  Maybe  man 
who  lose  come  some  day,  then  I  give  'em  him  — 
no  sell  um,  not  mine  —  I  find  'em." 

Seeing  that  no  persuasion  of  money  could  in- 
duce the  chief  to  part  with  the  weapon,  the 
Frenchmen  said :  "  Well,  I  tell  you  a  story,  then 
perhaps  you  sell  me  the  gun." 

*'  May  be,"  said  the  Indian,  "  I  give  you  otter 
skin,  if  good  story ;  but  not  sell  you  gun." 

"You  know,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "forty 
years  ago  my  people,  the  French,  were  very 
many  in  this  country  —  thirty  thousand.  In  Sep- 
tember that  year  British  men  from  Massachu- 
setts, not  soldiers,  but  volunteers,  commanded 
by  Colonel  Winslow,  came  here,  and  by  telling 
lies  in  the  king's  name  took  most  of  the  people 
prisoners  and  put  them  on  board  vessels  and 
landed  them  in  strange  countries,  without  food 
or  money,  so  many  of  them  perished  from  want. 

"  At  Grand  Prd  the  people  were  first  taken. 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


6i 


then  at  Chignecto,  and  then  at  Port  Royal. 
Soon  as  the  people  at  Port  Royal  knew  what 
had  been  done  at  Grand  Prd  they  held  councils. 
Some  wanted  to  go  to  France  in  a  ship  then  in 
the  harbor,  others  wished  to  go  to  the  woods 
and  remain  concealed  until  the  soldiers  had 
left,  and  then  return  to  their  homes. 

"  Among  those  who  wanted  to  go  in  the  ship 
was  a  young  man  from  Paris,  named  Pierre 
Alen9on,  the  youngest  son  of  Count  Alen5on  of 
France.  This  young  man  was  an  artist.  He 
had  been  in  this  country  three  years  taking 
sketches  and  making  pictures  of  the  scenery, 

"  After  two  years  he  was  ready  to  return  to 
France ;  but  at  Grand  Prd  he  made  acquaint- 
ance with  a  young  girl  whom  he  met  at  the 
house  of  the  village  cur^.  This  girl's  name  was 
Pauline.  She  was  the  child  of  a  French  girl 
who  had  been  taken  captive  by  the  Iroquois  In- 
dians at  a  battle  with  the  Micmacs,  and  forced 
to  marry  a  young  brave  of  that  tribe.  When 
she  was  ten  years  old  her  mother  died,  and  soon 


^ 


M\ 


'l" 


63 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


after  her  father  was  killed  in  battle.  She  had 
no  home,  and  wandered  back  to  her  mother's 
people,  living  sometimes  with  them  and  some- 
times with  the  Micmac  Indians. 

•  *auline  was  beautiful,  like  the  wild  flowers 
and  birds ;  when  the  artist  saw  her  he  loved  her, 
but  knew  he  could  never  marry  her.  Pauline  did 
not  know  or  understand  the  bar  of  nobility,  and 
loved  the  artist  without  hinderance  of  thought. 

"  A  year  of  this  acquaintance  passed.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  Pauline  had  been  at  Port  Royal 
with  her  mother's  people  ;  and  on  this  afternoon 
of  September,  1755,  was  among  the  Acadians. 

"She  and  the  artist  were  apart  from  the 
others  near  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  Alen^on 
was  persuading  the  girl  to  go  with  him  in  the 
ship  to  France.  But  his  persuasions  were  use- 
less ;   she  would  go,  but  only  as  his  wife. 

"While  he  was  anxiously  talking  there  came 
upon  the  air  the  sharp  twang  of  a  bow-string, 
and  an  arrow  passed  through  his  body  and  fell 
to  the  ground  a  few  yards  distant.     The  girl 


i 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


63 


gave  a  loud  cry  of  alarm.  Her  alarm  was  not 
alone  for  the  wounded  artist,  but  for  her  own 
safety.  She  knew  well  that  only  one  man  in 
the  country  could  send  an  arrow  with  such 
force,  and  he  was  the  hated  Iroquois  giant, 
Elasquit." 

The  old  chief  had  listened  indifferently  and 
in  silence.  But  at  the  mention  of  Plasquit  he 
turned  his  face  a  little  toward  the  story-teller. 

"  This  man,"  continued  the  Frenchman,  "was 
now  in  the  service  of  the  British,  as  a  guide  and 
spy.  He  had  followed  the  gir'  two  years,  and 
claimed  her  for  his  wife  because  her  father  was 
an  Iroquois  and  he  an  Iroquois  brave. 

"  Her  cry  brought  instant  assistance  from  the 
group  of  men  near,  and  it  was  soon  found  that 
the  arrow  was  not  barbed,  and  the  wound  not 
certainly  fatal.  The  giant  had  been  concealed 
in  the  woods  near  by,  and  fled  as  soon  as  he 
saw  that  his  arrow  had  done  its  fatal  work. 

"In  the  same  hour  came  tidings  from  the 
town  that  the  soldiers  were  marching  upon  the 


I'     ' 


i 


64 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


settlement,  and  a  vessel  was  at  the  entrance  of 
the  harbor  to  prevent  escape  by  sea. 

"  There  was  left  them  no  alternative  but  to 
flee  to  the  woods.  By  dark  they  collected  what 
arms  they  had,  and  as  much  provision  as  they 
could  carry,  and  set  out  for  a  hiding-place  in 
the  depths  of  the  great  forests  to  the  south  of 
them.  The  wounded  artist  was  carried  on  a 
kind  of  handbarrow  hastily  constructed  out  of 
such  materials  as  were  near  at  hand. 

"  Some  friendly  Micmacs  accompanied  them 
as  guides  and  advisers.  Great  care  was  taken 
to  leave  no  trail.  The  Indians  knew  the  coun- 
try well,  and  led  them  over  the  hard  land,  among 
the  rocks  and  large  old  trees,  so  that  no  footprint 
could  be  found ;  and  no  one  was  allowed  to 
pluck  a  leaf  or  break  a  branch. 

"  By  dawn  they  had  made  six  miles.  The  next 
night  seven  more  miles,  and  they  reached  a 
small  stream  on  the  south  side  of  the  mountain. 
Here  they  prepared  to  camp  and  keep  con- 
cealed from  the  soldiers  should  they  attempt  to 


16 
u 

< 

> 

A 
U 
<1 


"-'■If 


..^> 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


67 


hunt  them  out.  The  third  day  two  of  the  In- 
dians who  had  gone  to  the  town  returned  with 
the  news  that  Plasquit  with  some  of  the  soldiers 
were  about  to  beat  the  woods  in  search  of 
them.  From  the  soldiers  alone  they  had  not 
much  fear;  they  had  already  grown  weary  of  the 
cruel  work  and  would  do  no  more  than  reluc- 
tantly obey  orders.  But  the  giant  Plasquit  had 
an  enemy  to  kill,  and  a  prize  to  capture,  and 
he  would  assuredly  find  them. 

"  It  was  clear  that  they  must  either  return  to 
the  settlement  and  give  themselves  up,  or  make 
a  forced  march  through  the  forest  to  the  Atlan- 
tic coast,  a  distance  of  about  fifty  miles ;  and 
they  decided  to  make  the  march. 

"  But  the  artist  was  now  in  the  delirium  of 
fever  and  could  not  be  carried.  Pauline  and 
two  Micmacs  volunteered  to  remain  with  him 
and  take  their  chances  of  escaping  Plasquit. 

"  There  were  two  canoes  at  the  headwater  of 
the  river,  two  miles  distant.  To  these  the  peo- 
ple helped  carry  the  sick  man,  placed  him  in 


'n 


t 


w 


68 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


m 

I  J!  I 


f 


ofle  of  them,  and  some  provisions  in  the  other. 
The  two  Indians  were  each  armed  with  a  toma- 
hawk and  bow  and  arrow,  and  woodman's  axe. 
The  only  firearms  in  their  possession  was  an 
army  pistol,  always  carried  by  the  artist,  and 
now  stuck  in  the  belt  of  Pauline's  dress." 

"  Uough,"   said   the    Indian,   and   this  time 
turned  his  face  full  toward  the  story-teller. 

"For  three  days  they  paddled  the  canoes 
south,  down  the  streams  and  through  the 
lakes,  till  they  came  to  the  burying-ground  at 
Kaduskak.  There  they  landed  and  built  a  camp 
near  the  east  shore  of  the  stream.  Here  they 
considered  themselves  safe  even  from  Plasquit. 
They  had  left  no  trail,  and  he  could  not  know 
that  they  were  not  with  the  people  who  had 
marched  across  the  country. 

"  The  artist  was  still  delirious.  For  two  weeks 
they  staid  there,  unmolested,  Pauline  caring  for 
the  sick  man,  and  the  two  Indians  providing  the 
food  and  guarding  the  camp. 

"  One  afternoon  as  they  watched,  they  saw  a 


•1 


ii 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


69 


raft  of  logs  floating  down  the  lake  toward  the 
Kaduskak.  It  was  far  up  the  lake,  but  was 
slowly  approaching  the  shore  near  their  camp, 
although  the  wind  was  blowing  up  the  lake. 

"A  raft  on  a  lake,  with  no  one  to  propel  it  and 
going  against  the  wind,  was  enough  to  put  these 
red  men  on  their  guard.  One  of  them  climbed 
a  spruce-tree,  and  after  watching  for  some  time 
until  the  raft  drew  nearer,  saw  lying  flat  among 
the  logs  that  were  piled  along  the  sides,  the 
huge  body  of  Plasquit,  and  beside  him  four 
soldiers  and  five  muskets.  "  Certain  that  they 
were  discovered,  the  Indians  and  Pauline  set 
themselves  to  work  to  defend  the  camp.  It  was 
useless  to  attempt  escape. 

"  Before  dark  the  wind  suddenly  increased  to 
a  furious  gale,  and  raised  such  a  sea  that  the 
raft  began  to  break  up,  and  its  occupants  were 
forced  to  cling  to  the  separate  logs  and  allow 
themselves  to  drift  before  the  wind,  which  landed 
them  toward  morning  on  the  southwest  shore  of 
the  lake. 


H' 


'  m 


m 


iiii 


70 


THE    KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


"Lying  in  the  rapid  stream,  and  reaching 
nearly  across  it  was  a  large  tree,  which  had 
blown  down  in  the  gale  that  broke  up  the  raft. 
This  tree  would  form  a  bridge  for  Plasquit  and 
his  men  to  cross.  White  men  in  this  situation 
might  have  cut  the  tree  from  its  roots  and  sent 
it  adrift;  not  so  the  Micmacs.  From  it  to  the 
camp  was  about  three  hundred  steps,  through 
trees  that  were  set  close  together.  All  day  the 
Indians  and  Pauline  cut  and  twisted  withes,  and 
tied  them  from  tree  to  tree,  between  this  land- 
ing place  and  the  camp,  about  as  high  as  a 
man's  knee  from  the  ground.  In  and  out,  in 
every  direction  these  wood  ropes  were  woven, 
like  a  net,  always  across  the  way  from  the  tree 
to  the  camp,  but  open  at  the  ends  so  the  Indians 
could  run  in  between  them  and  strike  a  man 
who  would  be  tripped  by  going  against  them. 
They  were  the  color  of  the  trees  among  which 
they  twined,  and  could  not  be  seen  in  the  night. 

"This  done,  Pauline,  under  the  directions  of 
the  artist,  who  had  in  the  anxiety  of  the  work 


l^. 


THE   KADUSKAK  GIANT. 


71 


rallied  considerably,  drew  from  the  pistol  the 
load,  picked  the  flint,  and  carefully  reloaded  it 
with  two  balls  and  as  heavy  a  charge  of  powder 
as  it  would  safely  carry.  Then  they  watched 
and  waited  the  attack. 

"As  the  Indians  expected,  Plasquit  chose  the 
fallen  tree  to  cross  the  channel.  Leading  his 
men,  and  waiting  on  the  shore  till  all  were  at 
his  side,  with  a  whoop  like  the  bellow  of  a  bull 
he  sprang,  hatchet  in  hand,  among  the  trees ; 
only  to  find  himself  thrown  headlong  on  the 
ground,  and  by  the  time  he  got  to  his  feet  to  see 
two  of  his  men  dispatched  with  tomahawks. 

"  He  sprang  back  to  the  bank,  seized  his 
musket  and  fired  at  one  of  the  Indians  as  he 
was  driving  his  tomahawk  into  the  head  of 
another  of  the  soldiers.  The  Indian  fell,  but 
at  the  same  time  the  remaining  soldier  was 
killed  by  the  other  Indian. 

"Again  Plasquit  seized  his  hatchet,  and 
rushed  against  the  network.  It  gave  way  before 
his  great  strength  as  if  the  withes  were  threads 


'ti 


f 


72 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


t 


4i 


of  tow.  The  surviving  Indian  feared  to  attack 
Iiim,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  at  the  last  rope 
next  the  camp. 

"  There  Pauline  met  him,  with  the  pistol  in 
her  right  hand.  The  withe  gave  way  as  had  the 
others,  and  with  a  yell  of  triumph  he  sprang 
forward  and  clasped  the  girl  in  his  giant  arms, 
and  the  same  instant  fell  to  the  ground  with  two 
bullets  through  his  heart.  Pauline  following 
the  artist's  instructions  fired  when  the  muzzle 
of  the  pistol  was  almost  against  his  breast. 

"The  arms  tightened  around  her  as  death 
convulsed  the  great  muscular  frame,  and  she  fell 
to  the  earth  with  him.  When  the  Indian  came 
to  rescue  her  he  found  her  pale  and  cold  and 
covered  with  blood,  and  he  supposed  her  dead. 

"The  suspense  and  terror  of  the  fight  had 
stupefied  the  artist,  and  he  lay  all  through  the 
night  unconscious.  When  he  came  out  of  the 
stupor  at  daydawn,  his  quick  ear  caught  the 
sound  of  Pauline's  voice.  Thoughtless  of  his 
condition  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  place  where 


THE    KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


73 


she  lay,  locked  fast  in  the  dead  giant's  arms. 
She  had  but  fainted  with  the  fright  of  her 
situation  and  the  deed  she  had  done,  and  for 
three  hours  had  lain  in  that  condition. 

"  The  Indian  had  fallen  asleep,  but  wakened 
and  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  together  they 
sought  to  extricate  the  girl  from  the  dead  em- 
brace. Their  united  strength  was  not  enough 
to  bend  the  giant  arms  now  stiffened  in  death, 
and  they  were  forced  to  break  them  with  a 
hatchet.     Pauline  was  unhurt. 

"  The  Indian  buried  his  companion,  and 
secured  the  guns  of  the  soldiers,  and  their  am- 
munition. Then  taking  the  largest  canoe,  he 
and  Pauline  placed  the  Frenchman  on  the  bot- 
tom, and  taking  their  positions,  each  with  a 
paddle,  at  either  end,  they  started  off  down  the 
great  lake,  toward  the  river  that  ran  to  the  sea. 

"At  that  time  there  was  no  settlement  at  this 
place,  but  they  found  there  a  vessel  nearly 
ready  to  sail  for  France,  loaded  with  fish,  and 
valuable  skins  purchased  from  the  Indians. 


74 


THE    KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


ri 


I:- 


"From  the  night  of  the  fight  at  Kaduskak,  the 
young  artist  had  been  constantly  growing  better, 
and  had  by  this  time  nearly  recovered  his  usual 
strength.  Among  those  who  were  to  take  pas- 
sage in  the  ship  was  a  missionary  priest  who 
had  been  out  for  some  years  with  the  Micmacs 
and  was  now  about  to  return  to  France.  Pierre 
Alen9on's  proud  family  had  now  no  weight  when 
put  in  the  balance  against  the  girl's  love  and 
bravery  in  risking  life  and  honor  for  his  sake. 
He  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  the  same  day 
the  missionary  priest  made  them  man  and  wife. 

"When  they  bade  the  brave  and  faithful  Mic- 
mac  good-by,  and  gathered  up  the  few  things  they 
wished  to  take  with  them,  they  then  for  the  first 
time  missed  the  pistol  with  which  Pauline  shot 
the  giant.  The  loss  of  it  was  a  great  grief  to 
the  artist,  for  the  weapon  was  of  great  value. 
It  had  been  made  by  a  wonderful  gunsmith  and 
the  stock  was  inlaid  with  gold  and  silver." 

"  Uough  ! "  repeated  the  Indian. 

"  Neither  of  them  had  seen  it  after  the  shoot- 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


75 


ing.  There  was  no  time  to  make  search,  and 
they  sailed  for  France  without  it  and  never  came 
back.  But  two  of  their  sons  came.  We  are 
the  children  of  Pauline  and  Pierre  Alen^on. 
We  will  give  you  great  price  for  this  pistol.  It 
is  the  one  our  mother  killed    the  giant  with." 

"  Your  father  alive  ? "  asked  the  old  Indian. 

"  Our  father  died  three  years  ago." 

"Your  mother  alive .?" 

"  She  was  when  we  left  France." 

The  old  chief  handed  the  pistol  to  the  man 
who  told  the  story.  "You  take  it  France," 
he  said,  "give  it  your  mother  —  tell  her  I 
keep  it  for  owner  —  owner  dead,  now  hers  — 
good-by." 

No  persuasions  could  make  him  take  anything 
in  return,  and  the  strangers  were  obliged  to 
leave  without  rewarding  this  old  king  of  the 
forest  for  his  stolid  adherence  to  do  right. 

About  ten  years  ago  there  went  from  Milton 
in  Queen's  County,  up  the  river  to  Indian  Gar- 
dens, a  party  of  gentlemen  on  a  hunting  tramp. 


i  f; 


76 


THE   KADUSKAK   GIANT. 


■  !■ 


With  the  party  was  a  professor  of  a  Western 
College,  who  wished  to  get  a  skeleton  of  a  male 
Micmac  Indian.  He  and  two  others  of  the 
party  concluded  to  rob  the  burying-ground  at 
Kaduskak.  They  opened  a  very  long  mound 
and  found  complete  a  massive  skeleton,  with 
the  bones  of  both  arms  broken. 

An  old  Micmac  named  Cobleale  Glode  (who 
has  since  died)  was  asked  about  this  giant  skele- 
ton. "  Uough,"  said  he,  "  Plasquit ! "  and  told 
the  story  substantially  as  told  here.  He  said  he 
was  told  it  by  the  old  Chief  Alexis. 


Nearly  a  century  has  elapsed  since  the  old 
Sagomo  heard  the  story  from  the  Frenchmen, 
and  the  lumberman's  axe  and  scathing  fires 
have  denuded  the  islands  and  forests  along 
the  shores  of  Rosignol.  But  the  breeze  still 
dimples  its  surface,  and  the  little  waves  still 
fret  its  sandy  shores  ;  the  hills  still  mirror 
themselves  in  its  deep  quiet  bays,  and  the  wild 
fowl  still  dip  over  its  moonlit  breast. 


III. 


THE   FUGITIVES  OF   FRENCH   CROSS. 


THE  southern  coastline  of  the  Bay  of 
Fundy  directly  opposite  Isle  Haut, 
makes  a  bend  into  the  range  of  hills  called 
North  Mountain,  thus  gaining  for  its  boisterous 
waters  a  peaceful  sweep  of  perhaps  three  square 
miles  of  surface.  From  the  radius  of  this  curve 
the  great  Bluff  that  forms  the  sea-wall,  sentinel- 
lined  with  straight  black  spruces,  breaks  and 
bends  and  dips  till  either  end  is  lost  to  view  in 
the  blue  of  sky  and  sea. 

Near  the  western  slope  of  the  bend,  a  point 
of  land,  green  to  within  a  few  yards  of  tide- 
mark,  stretches  out  into  the  Bay.  On  this 
point,  where  the  green  merges  into  the  gray  of 
the  rocky  shore,  a  white  cross,  seven  feet  high, 

77 


i.i   |l 


f^' 


r 


78 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


1.1 


I!  I 


h 


stands  outlined  against  the  blue  water ;  and  the 
green  of  the  sod  around  it  for  many  rods  is  like 
that  of  old  battle-fields  where  human  bones  en- 
rich the  soil  beneath  and  feed  the  herbage  above. 
The  brown-leaved  beeches  that  stretch  their 
long  branches  out  over  the  stony  mountain 
road,  make  a  hazel  flutter  in  the  breeze,  but 
tell  no  tale  of  the  Cross.  The  little  brook  that 
rushes  over  its  rocky  bed  by  the  point,  sparkles 
and  frets  its  grassy  shores,  and  loses  itself  in 
the  great  Bay,  with  never  a  syllable  of  the  years 
of  the  past.  The  foaming  tide  that  laps  and 
swirls  up  over  the  rocks  and  the  dim  gray  sand 
comprehends  not  the  mystery.  The  tall  firs 
that  stand  in  clumps  on  either  side  the  brook 
are  of  other  centuries  and  know  the  story ;  but 
they  have  been  long  visited  in  vain  by  the  balm 
of  spring  and  summer,  and  drooping  silver  moss 
drapes  their  dead  and  whitened  branches.  Only 
the  dark,  green  grass  about  the  Cross  chroni- 
cles the  tale  of  its  erection  ;  only  in  its  verdure 
is  there  relic  of  the  sad  occasion. 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


79 


i7SS>  September   12th. 

At  Belisle,  on  the  river  near  Port  Royal, 
the  grand  old  forest  of  mountain  and  valley 
was  bright  with  the  many-colored  leaves  of 
autumn.  But  there  was  neither  sunlight  nor 
gladness  in  the  abodes  of  the  hamlet.  Belisle 
was  full  of  sorrow  and  perplexity.  This  day  the 
news  had  reached  the  people  that  they  were 
prisoners  of  the  English  king,  and  as  soon  as 
his  soldiers  could  reach  the  place,  their  houses 
and  barns  would  be  burned,  and  themselves  put 
on  board  vessels  to  be  taken  to  strange  coun- 
tries, to  perish  from  loneliness  of  heart  and 
wretchedness  of  condition.  Their  only  escape 
from  such  a  fate  was  secretion  in  the  vast  forests 
about  them,  and  this  stern  alternative  these 
hitherto  free  and  happy  French  Acadians  had 
accepted. 

Since  dawn  they  had  been  busy  in  prepara- 
tion for  the  abandonment  of  their  comfortable, 
cheerful  homes,  and  all  that  the  labor  of  their 
hands  had  accumulated  and  made  their  own. 


8o 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


ii 


Their  storehouses  and  barns  filled  with  winter 
supplies,  their  cattle,  their  fowls,  their  comfort- 
able beds  and  social  firesides  were  to  be  left 
for  destruction  and  confiscation.  Not  a  man  or 
woman  but  must  part  with  breaking  heart  from 
productive  acres  and  endeared  habitation,  and 
plunge  into  the  wild  woods  of  the  great  hills. 

All  day  the  men  in  groups  had  been  going  to 
and  from  the  log  house  of  Pierre  Melancon 
which  stood  among  the  great  trees  about  half 
a  mile  from  the  settlement.  This  man  was  a 
hunter  and  trapper.  All  the  country  knew 
Pierre  Melancon,  and  he  knew  the  country. 
Hardly  a  square  mile  of  forest  that  had  not  felt 
his  footstep ;  even  the  Bay  of  Fundy  had  been 
crossed  by  him,  and  the  land  beyond  it  was  not 
unfamiliar.  His  terrible  strength  and  powers 
of  endurance  had  made  him  known  to  both 
French  and  Indians.  No  man  among  them 
could  travel  so  far  in  a  day  or  carry  so  great  a 
load.  His  adventures  with  wild  beasts  and 
wild  Indians  were  everywhere  told  with  wonder 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF   FRENCH   CROSS. 


Si 


and  admiration.  And  though  Time  had  regis- 
tered seventy  and  five  years  against  him,  and 
whitened  his  beard  and  hair,  he  was  still  erect 
and  strong,  and  feared  and  admired.  And 
when  on  this  day  of  distress  three  hundred  of 
his  countrymen  started  from  Belisle,  it  was  by 
universal  consent  he  was  chosen  their  leader 
and  protector. 

Soon  as  darkness  came  over  the  hamlet,  this 
forlorn  hope  of  a  captured  and  expatriated  peo- 
ple set  out  for  the  fastness  of  the  old  woods. 

Some  of  the  men  carried  guns  and  ammunition, 
others  carried  provisions  hastily  prepared,  the 
women  and  children  carried  clothing  and  blan- 
kets, and  not  a  few  of  them  had  in  their  arms 
children  too  young  to  walk.  One  man  only  was 
loaded  with  what  seemed  a  useless  burden.  On 
his  shoulders  was  a  pickaxe  and  shovel  and  coil 
of  rope. 

All  that  night  they  journeyed,  up  the  side  of 
the  mountain  that  separates  the  valley  where 
they  had  lived  so  happily,  from  the  blue  Bay 


m 


t  li 


82 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


m 


i.ii  1 


M^  i! 


il  I 


'tr' 


I  '■  i 


"•    1^ 


il 


w 


of  Fundy  to  the  north  of  them,  and  early  in  the 
forenoon  of  the  next  day  they  reached  its  sum- 
mit and  rested. 

The  plan  of  march  was  to  keep  on  the  top  of 
the  mountain  range  and  make  their  way  east- 
ward to  the  bluff  of  Blomidon.  From  there  the 
distance  by  water  was  short  to  the  mainland 
across  the  Bay.  In  the  vicinity  of  Blomidon 
they  hoped  to  find  some  friendly  Indians  who 
would  convey  them  to  Chignecto,  where  there 
was  a  large  Indian  encampment ;  and  from 
there  their  march  would  be  easy  to  the  numer- 
ous French  villages  between  Chignecto  and 
Beau  Sejeur. 

The  distance  to  this  Bluff  was  about  one  hun- 
dred miles.  For  four  weeks  they  journeyed, 
some  part  of  each  day  and  all  of  the  nights 
resting,  and  had  made  fifty  miles  of  their  march 
when  they  were  met  by  an  unlooked-for  foe. 
Seven  times  in  these  weeks  had  the  pickaxe  and 
shovel  been  used,  and  each  time  a  little  mound 
of  fresh  earth  at  the  roots  of  a  tree  told  the  tale 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


83 


of  a  mother's  bereavement.  The  provisions 
brought  from  the  farms  were  entirely  gone, 
and  beechnuts  and  game  were  the  only  avail- 
able food.  It  did  not  agree  with  the  stomachs 
of  this  cereal  and  vegetable-fed  people,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  fourth  week  what  had  at  first 
seemed  only  a  casual  sickness  developed  into  a 
deadly  malady,  and  not  a  child  of  the  party  but 
was  stricken  with  it. 

They  slackened  their  march,  and  for  seven 
days  made  not  as  many  miles  of  their  journey. 
By  this  time  the  sickness  had  spread  to  the 
weaker  of  the  adults. 

They  held  council  together,  and  at  the  deci- 
sion of  their  leader,  directed  their  march  over 
and  down  the  mountain,  and  at  nightfall  came 
to  a  quiet  little  cove  making  into  the  mountain- 
side from  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  with  shallow  sand 
shores  lined  with  old  pines  and  beeches  of 
primeval  growth.  Here  the  wise  old  hunter 
hoped  by  means  of  brush  weirs  constructed 
beneath   high-water  level  to  catch  some  tide- 


84 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH    CROSS. 


II 


4' 


m 


III  I 

:  n 


belated  fish,  and  thus  by  change  of  food  to 
check  or  destroy  the  malady  that  had  so  fatally 
seized  upon  his  people. 

The  day  following  their  arrival  was  clear  and 
warm,  and  was  spent  in  making  their  camps  for 
a  couple  of  weeks'  stay.  Under  the  thousand- 
year-old  beeches,  many  of  which  still  retained 
their  leaves,  ripe  but  not  ready  to  fall,  these 
camps  were  built  out  of  the  boughs  of  firs,  and 
beds  made  from  younger  growths  of  the  same 
tree.  Some  brush  was  cut  and  carried  down  to 
the  shore  to  construct  the  weirs  on  the  morrow. 
Then  the  sick  and  weary  fug^itives  laid  them- 
selves down  to  sleep  with  the  consoling  thought 
of  fresh  food  for  another  day. 

Night  came  on,  clear  and  calm  and  liquid, 
with  myriad  stars  flashing  in  a  cloudless  autumn 
sky.  But  midnight  brought  a  change,  and  be- 
fore the  dawn  a  snowstorm  from  northeast  was 
piling  its  cold  crystals  around  the  camps  and 
over  the  ground.  All  the  next  day  and  night 
the  air  was  thick  with   the  drifting  snow,  and 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


8S 


the  following  day  saw  the  whole  country  round 
covered  to  the  depth  of  two  feet  and  the  air  in- 
tensely cold. 

The  disheartened  Acadians  knew  well  what 
this  unexpected  storm  meant  for  them.  Winter 
had  "  set  in,"  they  said  to  one  another,  and  all 
hope  of  reaching  their  friends  across  the  Bay 
was  now  at  an  end.  With  the  last  whirl  of  the 
uncompromising  snow,  that  hope  hr  i  expired. 
Here  they  must  remain  until  spring. 

The  cold  they  did  not  fear ;  fuel  was  plenty, 
and  the  great  beeches  under  which  their  camps 
were  built  kept  out  the  cold  wind,  and  in  the 
heat  of  the  camp-fire.  Food  was  the  necessity 
for  which  there  seemed  no  source  of  supply. 
Even  the  prospect  of  fresh  fish  was  almost  en- 
tirely cut  off  by  the  intense  cold  that  froze  the 
ebbing  tide  to  the  rocks  and  sand,  and  covered 
the  bottom,  where  the  weirs  should  be  made, 
with  thick  ice. 

Their  ammunition  for  the  guns  was  mostly 
gone,  and  travel  in  search  of  game  could  only 


¥\ 


M'.S 


-!l- 


III. 


•i' 

pi 

J 

1  ;l 

1: 

1 

1 
Ik 

86 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


be  done  by  strong  men,  and  of  these  but  few 
now  remained,  for  hardy  as  these  Acadian  farm- 
ers were,  they  could  not  endure  change  oi  food 
and  unusual  fatigue.  The  only  certainly  at- 
tainable tood  was  the  small  bivalves  called 
mussels,  that  cling  to  the  tide-submerged  rocks; 
and  these  could  be  got  only  by  exposure  to  wet 
and  cold. 

Four  months  they  lived  on  these  fish  —  died  on 
them  —  for  as  the  heaps  of  empty  shells  without 
the  camps  grew  daily  higher,  the  p'lople  within 
who  were  trying  to  subsist  upon  their  viscous 
contents  grew  despairingly  less,  and  on  the 
first  day  if  March  there  was  left  but  ninety  of 
the  three  hundred.  The  ominous  pickaxe  and 
shovel  had  covered  more  than  t.«u  hundred  of 
those  who  cast  inquiring  glances  at  them  on  the 
day  of  the  start. 

March  came  in  "  like  a  lamb,"  and  continued 
fine.  The  snow  gradually  melted,  the  ice-caked 
rocks  ci»me  out  of  their  clothing  of  frost,  gray 
and  weedy  and  regardless  of  suffering  humanity 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


87 


about  them.  The  little  brook  from  the  mount- 
ain side,  released  from  its  imprisonment  of  ice, 
babbled  its  old  spring  melody  as  it  rushed  on- 
ward to  the  salt  green  sea.  Birds  from  sea- 
ward and  animals  from  land  skimmed  the  shores 
and  roamed  round  the  camps,  but  !o  no  avail 
for  the  starving  inmates ;  the  ammunition  had 
been  long  exhausted  and  their  guns  were  useless. 

The  distress  of  the  past  months  was  nothing 
compared  with  these  days  of  March.  Through 
some  freak  of  nature  the  mussels  that  had 
hitherto  been  found  clinging  to  the  rocks  were 
not  there  when  the  ebbing  tide  disclosed  their 
wonted  resting  place.  For  more  than  a  week 
the  rocks  were  visited  vainly  by  the  starving 
fugitives;  then  a  fevv  were  found.  But  there 
were  fewer  people  to  need  them,  for  in  this  time 
their  number    'i.j  reduced  to  sixty. 

In  this  starving  condition  thr;y  remained  until 
the  seventeenth,  and  at  noon  of  this  day  a  canoe 
containing  two  Indians,  came  up  the  Bay  in 
search  of  porpoise. 


■  Apa 


'm 


;uif 


88 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


Ul. 


11 


One  of  the  Indians  was  an  old  man,  the  other 
a  young  strong  lad.  They  met  with  friendly 
words  the  starving  men  who  rushed  to  the  shore 
and  when  they  had  landed  their  canoe  freely 
dispensed  their  provision  among  the  people. 

There  seemed  little  hope,  however,  of  receiv- 
ing from  them  more  than  the  immediate  relief. 
They  were  not  from  a  large  encampment  as  the 
Acadians  had  at  first  supposed,  but  had  a  soli- 
tary camp  down  the  Bay. 

But  in  the  course  of  their  talk  the  old  Indian 
learned  the  name  of  their  leader,  and  the  dis- 
tress he  had  siiown  at  being  unable  to  rescue 
the  fugitives  seemed  to  vanish  at  mention  of 
this  old  hunter  whose  deeds  of  m'ght  and  brav- 
ery had  made  him  known  to  all  in  days  long 
past.  All  the  afternoon  the  Indian  went  about 
and  talked  with  the  people,  and  as  he  left  each 
camp  he  left  hope  in  the  faces  of  the  famishing 
inmates.  From  camp  to  camp  the  strongest  men 
followed,  a  dozen  accompanying  him  when  near 
sunset   he    approached    the    shelter   of    Pierre 


THE    FUOmVES   OF    FRENCH    CROSS. 


89 


Melancon,  who  true  to  his  life-long  seclusion  had 
made  his  abode  separate  from  the  others. 

For  weeks  the  old  hunter  had  not  been  out ; 
he  was  stricken  with  the  same  malady  that  had 
proved  fatal  to  so  many  of  his  companions. 

The  Indian  led  the  way  and  entered  first  the 
camp.  Seated  on  a  bed  of  worn-out  boughs  was 
the  gaunt  and  shrunken  frame  of  the  giant 
hunter.  His  white  hair  and  beard,  uncut  and 
uncombed  for  months,  rested  on  his  brawny 
shoulders  and  broad  breast.  At  sight  of  the 
Indian  he  gave  the  Micmac  salutation  of  friend- 
ship, and  bade  the  men  enter. 

*'  Is  there  help?  "  he  asked. 

A  few  of  the  men  responded  to  his  bidding, 
but  none  of  them  met  his  glance  as  the  fore- 
most of  them  answered,  "There  may  be  help." 

The   old  Indian  seated  himself   beside  him, 
and  without  a  word  of  explanation  said 
been  across  the  Bay  to  Chignecto  in  cano 

"  Aye,  twice,"  replied  Pierre  Melancon 
a  gleam  of  pride  lighting  his  sunken  eyes. 


»<  v. 


n 


'   -Ail 

i 


90 


THE    FUGITIVES  OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


I  ■ 


"  My  people  and  your  people  are  there  — 
many  —  they  would  come  and  bring  you  in 
canoes  if  they  knew,"  said  the  Indian. 

"Aye,  if  they  knew!"  echoed  the  old  man 
sadly,  as  he  looked  at  the  men  who  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  the  camp,  their  white  starving 
faces  a  dumb  echo  to  his  sad  words. 

"  I  have  here,"  said  the  Indian,  "  a  good 
canoe,  and  my  boy,  brave  and  strong — he  will 
paddle  canoe  across,  but  does  not  know  the 
course,  nor  the  bad  eddies  in  the  tide  on  the 
other  shore." 

"  The  tide  and  the  bad  eddies  and  the  other 
shore,"  murmured  the  old  hunter  to  himself. 

"  Could  you  find  that  other  shore  again  ? " 
asked  the  Indian. 

"  Who  could  find  it  so  well  ? "  he  asked. 

"Aye,  who  could  find  it  so  well  as  you," 
echoed  the  men  outside  the  opening,  *'  who 
could  find  it  so  well  as  you  ? " 

The  old  wife  Josette  had  been  sitting  silent 
at  the   head   of  the   camp.     As  she   heard  the 


jjii.  i 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


9' 


murmur  of  the  men  she  started,  and  glanced 
sharply  at  them,  at  the  new  tone  in  their  voices, 
the  new  look  in  their  eager,  hungry  eyes ;  and 
she  read  their  wish.  She  rose,  and  sat  down 
in  front  of  the  weak  and  wasted  form  of  the 
old  hunter,  who  seemed  hardly  to  hear  the 
words  or  comprehend  their  significance. 

"  The  tide  and  the  currents  and  eddies, 
and  the  other  shore  —  the  other  shore,"  he  still 
murmured,  as  if  recalling  his  past  life  with  its 
deeds  of  strength  and  daring.  "Who  knows 
them  so  well  as  Pierre  Melancon ! " 

"To-day,"  said  the  old  Indian  slowly,  "is 
Saint  Patrick's  —  moon  full  —  always  calm 
on  sea  then  —  no  storm  in  two  days.  My 
brave  will  paddle  —  will  old  hunter  go  too  and 
guide  to  other  shore  and  keep  canoe  from  bad 
tide  and  eddies  ?  " 

The  old  man's  hands  dropped  on  his  knees. 
Ht  turned  and  looked  at  the  men.  Then  his 
head  fell  forward  on  his  breast,  and  there  was 
silence  in  the  camp. 


I J 


:iiha 


9« 


THE    FUGITIVES  OF    FRENCH    CROSS. 


m 


mi 


111 


The  men  now  crowded  eagerly  within  the 
opening,  but  no  one  spoke.  The  faithful  old 
wife  drew  nearer  him  and  placed  her  small  thin 
old  hands  in  his  great  bony  ones  and  held 
them  there  for  minutes  —  il  seemed  hours  to 
those  who  watched. 

A  shudder  came  over  the  man,  and  shook  him 
as  with  mortal  fear;  then  it  subsided  and  he 
breathed  long  and  labored,  like  a  strong  man 
in  deep  sleep. 

At  last  the  old  wife  said : 

"Pierre,  you  will  go,  your  strength  may  come 
back." 

The  old  man  raised  his  bowed  head,  and 
seeming  for  the  first  time  to  recognize  her,  said 
firmly  : 

"  Aye,  old  wife,  it  has  come,'*  and  rising  to 
his  feet  he  said  to  the  Indian  : 

*  i  will  go  to  the  other  shore,  and  I  will  pad- 


dle the  canoe,  too."     And  without  further  words 

Merre   Melancon 
placed  on  his  white  head  a  small  cap  of  otter- 


from   his    tightly-closed    lips    P 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


93 


skin  and  stepped  outside  the  camp,  followed 
by  the  silent  old  wife  who  still  held  firmly  to 
one  of  her  husband's  hard  hands. 

It  was  now  sundown.  The  full  moon  was 
already  silvcing  the  crested  waves  of  the  great 
fretful  Bay,  and  the  tide  at  full  flood  surged 
lazily  against  the  gray  rocks  on  the  shore  and 
backed  up  the  waters  of  the  rippling  brook, 
while  it  waited  the  summons  seaward. 

Direct  to  the  shore  where  the  canoe  lay  the 
old  man  walked,  rapidly  and  firmly,  the  men 
who  had  accompanied  the  Indian  to  the  camp, 
and  many  others  of  the  party,  following. 

At  the  shore  they  brought  to  him  their  last 
food  —  three  of  the  twenty  mussels  they  had 
that  day  secured  from  the  rocks.  But  he  did 
not  eat. 

"  You  must  eat  to  give  you  strength,"  they 
said. 

"  I  have  strength,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  have 
not  tasted  food  for  two  days."  And  turning  to 
the  young  Indian,  he  said  : 


r 


94 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH    CROSS. 


"  Shove  her  oflf,  and  get  into  the  bow."  Then 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  his  wife's  thin  white 
lips,  and  taking  the  strongest  of  the  three  pad- 
dles, he  seated  himself  in  the  stern,  and  without 
further  word  or  signal  struck  the  paddle  into 
the  water  with  such  force  that  the  canoe  shot 
ahead  like  an  arrow. 

The  Indian  with  equal  vigor  plied  his  paddle. 
Seldom,  if  ever,  went  a  bark  canoe  on  more 
humane  errand,  or  was  impelled  by  two  men  so 
strong.  Both  possessed  of  giant  frames,  the 
one  fired  and  fed  by  the  hot  blood  of  youth, 
the  other  fired  but  not  fed,  with  that  strange 
impulse  that  sometimes  seizes  upon  old  men  in 
great  emergency  and  for  a  time  restores  the 
muscular  might  of  younger  days. 

Seated  in  the  stern  the  old  Frenchman's  pad- 
dle was  both  oar  and  helm,  and  the  Indian  in 
the  bow  had  no  other  duty  than  to  paddle,  and 
this  he  did  with  skill  and  strength. 

Never  once  slackened  the  strong  strokes, 
Smaller  and  smaller  grew  the  fleeting  canoe  to 


■ ' 


m 


\r^ 


m 


HI 


'4 
I 

•1 

TV 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


97 


the  spell-stricken  people  on  the  shore,  and  at 
length  passed  from  their  sight.  Higher  and 
higher  in  the  blue  star-fretted  arch  rose  the 
mystic  March  moon,  till  it  reached  the  zenith 
of  its  course,  and  then  the  canoe  had  reached 
Isle  Haut,  that  solitary  upheaval  of  igneous  rock 
which  lifts  its  hundred  acres  of  forest  four  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  sea  around  it.  On  the  south 
side  the  massive  trap  rises  in  overhanging  cliffs 
of  towering  grandeur,  lofty  and  inaccessible. 
On  the  northeast  a  collection  of  sand  forms  a 
small  bar,  and  within  this  is  a  beautiful  basin 
of  clear  and  placid  water.  Straight  to  this 
basin  the  dexterous  paddle  of  the  old  man  di- 
rected  the  canoe,  so  that  it  lay  out  of  reach  of 
the  rushing  tide  that  now  swept  down  the  Bay. 
There  they  rested. 

Then  they  headed  the  canoe  from  the  other 
shore,  across  the  mighty  tide  river  of  the  great 
Bay;  by  the  whirling  eddies,  and  over  the  foam- 
ing currents  and  curling  waves  above  the  shoals 
they  skimmed,  and  at  sunrise  rounded  the  lofty 


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THE    FUGITIVES   OF   FRENCH   CROSS. 


cliff  of  Chignecto  and  entered  between  the 
isolated  towers  of  greenstone  that  line  the  nar- 
row opening  a  mile  east  of  the  cape.  Leaving 
the  canoe  on  the  small  beach  which  the  sea 
has  thrown  up  at  this  place,  the  old  hunter's 
keen  eyes  following  the  trail,  they  made  their 
way  through  the  thick  spruce  that  skirted  the 
ravines  and  over  the  pathless  hills,  direct  to 
the  Indian  village. 

There  he  was  greeted  by  many  who  knew 
him,  both  Micmac  and  French.  For  from  Beau- 
bassin  as  from  Port  Royal  many  of  the  Acadians 
had  escaped  tv  the  woods.  The  tale  of  his 
coming  was  told  in  few  words,  and  great  was 
their  surprise  to  learn  of  their  famishing  coun- 
trymen across  the  Bay.  In  two  hours  volun- 
teers from  both  French  and  Indians  had  manned 
the  strongest  of  the  canoes,  and  the  large  boat 
used  in  summer  for  fishing. 

While  they  were  busy  in  the  preparations  the 
old  hunter  rented,  but  ate  nothing;  and  when 
they  were  ready  to  cross  the  Bay  insisted  on  re- 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


99 


turning  with  them.  In  vain  they  promised  to 
bring  the  old  wife  back  in  the  first  canoe,  in 
vain  they  urged  rest  and  food.  He  would  return 
with  the  others  he  said  to  all  their  entreaties. 

And  when  they  gave  him  his  choice  of  place, 
he  seated  himself  in  the  bow  of  the  large  boat, 
with  his  broad  back  fitted  into  the  breast-hook 
and  his  face  toward  the  shore  he  had  by  super- 
human effort  reached.  The  young  Indian  sat 
near  him,  with  his  face  toward  the  other  shore. 

When  the  Fugitives  lost  sight  of  the  fleeting 
canoe  they  went  to  their  camps  and  slept,  but 
when  night  came  on  again  the  men  gathered 
on  the  shore  and  began  their  watch.  With  the 
men  was  the  old  wife  ;  no  entreaties  could  move 
her  from  the  rocky  point.  Long  before  the 
others  saw  she  caught  sight  of  the  waving  line 
of  black  off  the  island,  long  before  the  others 
heard  she  caught  the  sound  of  the  oar  in  the 
rowlocks,  and  afar  off  recognized  the  great  gray 
head  and  brawny  shoulders  in  the  bow  of  the 
large  boat. 


:!.  ■   I 


\n 


iOO        THE   FUGITIVES   OF   FRENCH   CROSS. 

As  they  neared  the  shore  she  wondered  why 
he  did  not  turn  his  face  shoreward  and  see  her 
patient  waiting.  The  others  who  crowded  down 
to  gaze  on  their  means  of  deliverance,  wondered 
the  same. 

Only  the  brave  young  Indian  who  sat  in  the 
bow  with  him,  did  not  wonder.  He  had  seen 
in  the  gray  mist  the  dew  gather  on  the  cold 
pale  face,  and  the  dim  eyes  still  fixed  on  the 
receding  shore  lose  their  luster.     He  knew,  but 

« 

would  not  say  it,  that  the  brave  old  hunter  had 
found  earth's  final  shore  and  was  at  rest  at 
last. 

The  boat's  keel  grated  on  the  sand,  and  the 
crew  leaped  out;  only  the  old  man  and  the 
Indian  remained.  Silent  and  pale  as  the  face 
into  which  he  looked  the  Indian  sat,  till  the 
faithful  old  wife  threw  her  shrunken  arms  around 
the  neck  of  her  husband,  and  with  a  faint,  child- 
like wail  fell  over  on  the  wet  sand.  Then  he 
took  the  rigid  body  of  the  hunter  in  his  strong 
arms  and  carried  it  to  a  dry  place  on  the  beach, 


THE   FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS.        lOI 


and  returned  to  help  the  old  wife.  But  she 
too  had  found  the  other  shore ;  that  cry  was 
all  the  anguish  earth  could  claim. 

In  the  spring-mellowed  soil  on  the  point  they 
dug  a  deep  wide  grave  and  buried  the  hunter 
and  his  old  wife  together.  And  at  the  head  of 
the  grave,  deep  down  to  the  bottom  they  set  a 
great  rough  oak  cross,  that  for  more  than  a 
hundred  years  stood  there,  the  mute  symbol  of 
hope  and  suffering. 

A  day  and  a  night  the  rescuers  rested.  The 
next  day  was  fair  and  the  people  were  stowed 
in  the  canoes  and  the  large  boat,  and  safely 
carried  to  the  other  side  of  the  Bj^y.  The  spot 
Where  they  landed  is  called  Refugee  Cove. 

A  quiet  village  is  now  where  those  liberty- 
loving  Acadians  lived  and  starved  and  died  in 
that  winter  of  '35.  For  many  years  the  place 
was  known  as  French  Cross.  It  is  now  called 
Morden. 

The  old  oak  cross  the  Fugitives  erected  is 


m 


iff 


i 


fi! 
If' ' 

jii- 


103 


THE    FUGITIVES   OF    FRENCH   CROSS. 


gone.  Time  leveled  it  to  the  ground.  But  an- 
other stands  in  its  place,  put  there  in  historic 
remembrance  by  hands  as  strong  as  Pierre 
Melancon's  own. 

In  these  days  of  reckless  vandalism  and  ob- 
livion of  yesterday,  it  is  refreshing  to  find  a 
man,  who  for  no  hope  of  gain  or  flattering  plau- 
dit, perpetuates  the  memory  of  heroic  deeds 
and  preserves  the  history  of  an  expatriated  peo- 
ple. He  deserves  the  meed  I  here  bestow  — 
his  name  is  John  Moore  Orpin. 

In  an  old  Episcopal  church,  in  the  valley, 
is  another  monument  of  the  French  Fugitives. 
Over  one  hundred  years  ago  the  heaps  of  mus- 
sel shells  left  on  the  shores  of  that  peaceful 
cove  were  carted  over  the  mountain  and  burned 
to  lime,  for  mortar  to  plaster  this  church  of 
Saint  Mary,  whose  walls  are  yet  white  with  the 
relic  of  suffering  humanity. 


IV. 


THE  COW-BELLS  OF  GRAND   Pr4. 


ON  the  tenth  of  September,  1755,  in  the 
doorway  of  a  small  wooden  hut  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  picketed  inclosure  containing 
the  new  Settlement  of  Lunenburg,  sat  a  young 
girl,  sturdy,  yellow-haired  and  blue-eyed,  born 
of  a  race  that  centuries  before  had  conquered 
the  Island  of  Britain.  And  though  peaceable 
and  placid  where  they  had  been  warlike  and 
barbarous,  the  same  dogged  and  firm  obstinacy 
of  purpose  was  in  the  strong  face  and  blue  eyes 
that  looked  down  over  the  Settlement,  and  out 
on  the  waters  of  the  Merleguish  Bay,  which,  in 
true  signification  of  its  Indian  name,  stretched 
milky  and  wild,  and  broke  into  while  surf  at  the 
base  of  the  rocky  island  near  the  entrance. 

103 


iHi 


m 


aoBi 


104 


THE    COW-BELLS    OF    GRAND    PRE. 


«l\ 


ll 


I1 


■I  J 


The  girl's  thoughts  were  not  following  her 
eyes.  They  were  farther  away  than  the  white 
tossing  bay  and  surf-encircled  island,  farther 
away  than  the  ocean  which  merged  its  limitless 
blue  into  the  as  blue  horizon  that  arched  it, 
farther  away  than  all  these,  and  back  to  the  lit- 
tle village  of  Saxenhausen  which  clustered  about 
the  bridge  that  spanned  the  Mayne  in  Frankfort, 
her  native  land. 

They  were  fair  promises  indeed  that  the  Lords 
Commissioner  of  Trade  and  Plantations  had  set 
forth  to  induce  the  sturdy  German  and  Swiss 
families  to  settle  in  this  new  colony  of  Nova 
Scotia.  "  To  each  foreigner  fifty  acres  of  land 
free  from  all  rent  or  taxes  for  ten  years.  To 
each  member  of  the  families  ten  additional 
acres.  Housekeeping  implements,  implements 
for  clearing  their  land  and  erecting  their  habi- 
tation, and  maintenance  for  a  twelvemonth." 
In  all  the  populous  towns  of  Germany  the  Proc- 
lamation was  set  up,  and  from  the  little  village 
of  Saxenhausen  fifty-seven  accepted  its  offers. 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£  105 

Ulrica  Owenslaugen  was  an  orphan.  Her 
uncle's  family  with  whom  she  lived  were  among 
the  fifty-seven.  For  a  six-year  Ulrica  had  been 
betrothed  to  Conrad  Ludovic,  a  poor  sick  lad, 
hardly  able  to  earn  clothing  and  food  from  the 
images  of  white  wood  which  he  carved  for  the 
fairs  on  Saints  days.  When  the  Proclamation 
was  set  up  on  the  Saxenhausen  bridge  Conrad 
was  among  the  number  who  were  flushed  with 
hope  at  the  new  life  offered.  All  of  the  days 
and  far  into  the  night  he  carved  at  his  white 
wood,  and  doubled  the  usual  supply,  that  he 
might  get  the  money  for  the  passage.  But  the 
stress  was  too  much  for  his  weak  constitution, 
and  in  two  months  he  was  prostrated  with  sick- 
ness, the  returns  for  his  sales  scarcely  paying 
those  who  cared  for  him. 

It  was  then  that  the  girl's  stubborn  purpose 
■  was  born.     She  would  herself  take  up  the  land 
for  which  Conrad  had  bargained  I 

As  member  of  her  uncle's  family  ten  acres 
would  be  hers  in  her  own  right,  and  her  own 


' .  i: 


m 


■  i 

ill 

:i 

■nm 

i 

'1 .,  fl 

1 

I06  THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£ 


in 


passage  was  secure.  Why  should  she  not  ? 
Many  a  day  had  she  worked  with  her  uncle  in 
fashioning  the  ship's  knees  and  timbers,  and 
could  swing  the  mallet  like  a  man,  he  had  often 
told  her.  In  two  years  or  less  she  could  have 
the  house  built  and  land  tilled.  And  with  what 
Conrad  could  himself  earn  in  this  time  she 
could  raise  money  enough  to  send  for  the  pas- 
sage out. 

It  was  a  bold  resolve,  and  one  which  the 
emigrants  would  have  discouraged  her  from 
entertaining  had  she  told  them.  But  only  to 
her  lover  did  she  confide  it,  and  though  he  had 
at  first  objected,  her  hope  and  confidence  was 
so  bright  that  he  at  length  came  to  believe  in  it, 
and  srve  for  the  humiliating  thought  that  she 
must  do  what  should  have  been  his  work  he  did 
not  oppose  her. 

All  that  first  winter  after  their  arrival  the 
emigrants  remained  in  Halifax,  helping  fashion 
the  frames  of  the  wooden  houses  which  were  being 
fast  erected  in  the  new  city ;  and  many  a  six- 


THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£.  107 


pence  did  Ulrica's  handiness  and  strength  add 
to  the  little  hoard  she  was  so  rigidly  saving. 
When  May  came  there  had  enough  settlers 
arrived  to  form  the  new  township,  and  on  the 
seventh  of  June  nearly  fifteen  hundred  German 
and  Swiss  landed  on  the  shore  of  Merleguish 
Bay,  the  spot  selected  by  General  Hopson  for 
the  site  of  the  town. 

There  was  much  discouragement  for  them. 
Not  a  tree  from  the  hill  had  been  felled.  The 
whole  of  the  coast  was  rocky  and  wild.  And 
the  thick  evergreen  forest,  overgrown  with  un- 
derbrush harder  to  remove  than  the  giant  trees 
themselves,  was  an  appalling  sight  to  these  peo- 
ple so  recently  removed  from  a  highly  cultivated 
and  populous  country,  whose  vast  forests  of  oak 
and  beech  spread  mile  upon  mile  of  clear, 
brown  ground  clean  as  a  grove. 

Ulrica  shared  the  general  disappointment, 
and  in  addition  to  this  was  refused  the  fifty 
acres  on  which  she  had  so  hopefully  planned. 
Her  ten  acres,  however,  proved  to  be  a  town 


Hi 


Mr 


i  :: 


!i 


lii! 


1 08  THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PR^. 

lot,  and  on  this  her  small  house  was  erected, 
and  finished  long  before  any  other  in  the  Settle- 
ment, for  several  youths  of  the  party  with  the 
secret  hope  that  they  might  themselves  some 
day  share  the  benefit  of  their  labors,  worked  at 
slabbing  and  banking  it.  In  the  same  way  her 
land  was  cut  and  cleared  sooner  than  her  neigh- 
bors, and  a  thrifty  growth  of  flax  and  turnips 
and  barley  now  grew  upon  it. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this  prosperity  she  had 
been  .unable  to  raise  the  passage-money,  and 
Conrad  was  still  in  the  German  land.  Though 
all  the  past  winter  she  had  worked  hard  at  the 
staves  and  barrels  the  settlers  sent  to  Halifax, 
the  money  in  return  did  not  make  up  the  re- 
quired sum,  and  as  she  sat  there  on  this  late 
afternoon  and  thought  it  all  over,  her  great 
stout  heart  was  heavy  within  her.  A  new  lot 
of  settlers  had  arrived  that  morning  and  in  the 
ship  came  a  letter  from  Ludovic.  He  was 
weaker,  and  the  tone  was  no  longer  hopeful,  foir 
In  it  he  bade  her  a  farewell. 


THE   COW-BELLS  OF   GRAND   PR&.  109 


The  girl  was  full  of  despair.  When  the  ship 
arrived  again  in  Germany  it  was  to  return  to 
the  new  colony  but  once  more,  and  that  would 
be  the  last  chance  for  his  coming. 

A  sharp  "halloo !  "  broke  in  upon  her  reverie, 
and  turning  quickly  she  saw  a  man  approaching 
the  Settlement  over  the  cleared  ground  between 
the  inclosure  and  the  forest. 

He  was  not  one  of  the  settlers,  but  was  evi- 
dently acquainted  with  the  way,  for  he  made  no 
detour  from  the  opening  in  the  picket  defense, 
but  came  straight  toward  it,  and  making  his  en- 
trance walked  quickly  across  the  garden  plot 
and  up  to  where  the  girl  stood. 

His  rough  clothes  were  torn,  and  from  his 
shoulder  swung  a  narrow  axe.  One  glance  at 
his  careless,  good-natured  face  freed  her  from 
alarm,  and  when  he  spoke  in  her  native  tongue 
the  girl  readily  recognized  him.  He  had  come 
out  with  the  settlers  from  Germany,  and  ac- 
companied them  to  Lunenburg,  but  after  a  few 
weeks  had  disappeared. 


.'»> 


.•:iii^;^* 


m 

m 


f.  i. 


I 


it, 

il: 


Jl  ;;)s] 


? 


no  THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PR^. 

Ulrica  had  never  spoken  with  him,  but  knew 
his  name  was  Jake  Steignford,  and  the  familiar 
speech  and  honest,  careless  face  swept  aside 
all  barriers ;  and  in  answer  to  his  request  for 
food  she  at  once  led  him  into  the  little  kitchen 
and  set  about  her  preparation  for  supper. 

"  Get  the  food  quick  as  possible,  Fraulein ! " 
said  the  man  as  he  seated  himself  wearily  on  the 
wooden  bench.  "  For  when  it  is  eaten  and  I 
have  milked  your  cow  for  pay,  I  am  off  down 
the  Settlement.    I  have  news  to  tell." 

And  then  to  her  wondering  ears  he  detailed 
the  story  of  the  expulsion  of  the  French.  He 
had  been  with  these  people  at  Minas  and  at 
Port  Royal  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  was  in  the 
vicinity  of  Minas  when  they  were  taken  from 
there.  His  foreign  speech  had  protected  him, 
but  not  an  incident  of  the  tragedy  had  escaped 
him. 

"  The  buildings,  barns  and  houses  were  fired 
and  burned  to  the  ground,"  he  said.  "  Not  one 
is  standing.    But  the  cattle  and  horses  and 


im 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£.  lit 

sheep  by  thousands  yet  feed  on  the  grand 
meadows.  It  is  for  that  I  have  come  here. 
By  to-morrow's  sunset  I  can  raise  a  party  of 
men,  and  we  can  bring  back  hundreds  of  the 
cattle.  It  will  be  a  fortune  for  those  who  are 
bold  enough  to  try  it.  And  unless  there  is 
haste  the  English  will  have  them  without  paying 
for  them ;  but  there  is  time  yet ;  only  last  night 
I  left  them  feeding  by  the  thousands." 

The  girl  stared  as  he  spoke  the  last  words. 

"  Only  last  night,"  she  repeated.  "  How  were 
you  brought  ? " 

The  man  glanced  good-humoredly  down  at 
his  thick-clad  feet. 

"  They  brought  me,"  he  said. 

"  But  the  mountains ;  they  say  there  are 
mountains  between  here  and  the  French 
country ! " 

"  Mountains  have  been  climbed,"  said  the  man. 

"  And  the  river  that  is  rough  and  deep,  and 
the  thick  forest  I  "  said  the  girl. 

"All  rivers  do  not  run  across  the  course," 


il 


m 


.1     il 


'** 


't 


Hi 


112  THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr6. 

replied  the  man,  "  and  trails  have  been  blazed 
through  the  deepest  forests." 

And  pointing  to  his  axe,  he  added :  "  The 
blazings  this  blade  cut  as  I  came  are  thick  as 
the  trees  on  which  I  made  them.  I  have 
crossed  more  forests  than  you  are  years  old, 
Fraulein,  and  could  always  return  the  way  I 
went.  The  sundown  is  hardly  here  yet,  and 
last  sundown  I  left  the  other  end  of  the  trail, 
forty  miles  away." 

"  But  the  way  would  be  rough  for  the  men 
who  are  not  used  like  you  to  the  forests,"  said 
the  girl. 

"  Ya;  the  way  is  rough,  but  the  Germans' 
legs  are  strong  as  their  hearts,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  meaning  laugh,  for  he  knew  the  reason 
of  her  coming  to  the  new  land. 

Ulrica  did  not  reply  to  the  raillery,  but  as  she 
placed  the  supper  on  the  table  the  words  re- 
peated themselves  in  her  mind,  and  she  said 
them  to  herself : 

"The    Germans'    legs  are   strong    as  their 


i 


THE   COW-BELLS  OF   GRAND    PrI  II3 

hearts.  Good !  And  their  hearts  are  strong 
and  true,  that  I  know ! " 

"  Now,  bring  up  your  cow,  Fraulein,"  said  the 
man,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  food.  "  Tush  !  but 
you  should  see  the  herds  that  feed  in  the  valley. 
Why,  in  a  small  meadow  not  a  mile  from  the 
woods  of  the  slope  there  are  a  dozen  or  more 
red  iind  white  creatures,  tame  as  your  own. 
There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  bring 
back  a  few  hundred." 

The  girl  went  out  of  the  house  and  down  the 
pathway  to  the  end  of  the  ten  acres  where  a 
small  fenced  bit  of  land  pastured  her  one  cow. 

She  was  gone  much  longer  than  usual,  and 
when  she  returned  the  man  had  left.  By  the 
plate  was  a  small  piece  of  money. 

Taking  up  the  pail  from  the  bench,  she  went 
out  into  the  penthouse  where  the  cow  stood. 
When  she  had  finished  milking  she  took  the 
rope  fastened  to  the  stanchion,  and  coiling  it 
closely,  tied  it  tightly  up  in  a  kerchief  which 
hung  from  her  bodice. 


»( 


m 


it 


4 


ga 


■■',  s. 


?■■■■ 


i'l'! 

■t: 


114  THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr6. 

Then  she  went  back  into  the  kitchen,  and 
from  a  chest  that  stood  by  the  bed  took  a  bun- 
dle of  old  linen  rags  and  a  small  lump  of  fresh 
tallow.  Opening  the  kerchief  she  put  these  in 
with  the  rope,  and  adding  half  a  loaf  of  barley 
bread  tied  it  tightly  up  again,  and  started  away 
from  the  house  across  the  garden  lot,  and  out 
through  the  picket  inclosure  by  which  Jake 
Steignford  had  made  his  entrance  a  few  hours 
before. 

When  she  reached  the  verge  of  the  forest  she 
sat  down,  and  removing  her  thick  wooden  shoes, 
greased  the  soles  of  her  feet  and  wrapped  the 
soft  linen  rags  about  them  under  the  coarse 
stockings.  This  done,  she  started  into  the 
thick  woods. 

She  was  bound  for  the  meadows  of  Mines,  to 
bring  back  some  cows  to  sell,  and  raise  the 
money  for  the  passage-pass  ! 

The  first  of  her  way  lay  through  a  dense  for- 
est of  yellow  pines ;  the  underbrush  was  scanty 
and  the  footing  easy  and  free  from  obstruction. 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND  PR^. 


"S 


The  blazings  on  the  trees  were  not  far  apart 
and  in  the  bright  moonlight  she  could  plainly 
see  them. 

Then  the  trail  struck  the  Gold  River,  a  wild 
and  rocky-bedded  stream,  dashing  its  water  to 
foam  in  incessant  leaps  and  whirls.  For  many 
miles  she  followed  it,  and  the  full  moon  lighting 
its  white  foaming  water  made  her  way  easy  to 
trace. 

At  last  she  began  to  slowly  descend  the 
mountain.  Up,  and  over,  and  down  the  great 
blue  hills,  covered  with  hard  wood  trees  of 
birch  and  oak,  and  dense  so  that  they  almost 
touched  each  other. 

It  was  in  these  deep  woods,  not  ten  miles 
from  the  Grand  Prd,  that  her  courage  first  for- 
sook her.  There  was  a  silence  through  them 
that  seemed  ominous,  after  the  sighing  and  toss- 
ing of  the  pine-tops.  And  as  the  soft  plumage 
of  an  owl  in  its  noiseless  flight  brushed  against 
her  face  she  started,  and  made  a  sudden  outcry. 
.  The    cry    echoed    and    re-echoed,    and    in 


1 


Il6  THE   COW-BELLS   OF  GRAND   Pr£ 


I! 


strangely  varied  and  weird  tones  was  repeated, 
till  the  girl  was  filled  with  terror,  and  sank  to 
her  knees  on  the  brown  leaves  which  already  lay 
thick  on  the  ground. 

For  the  first  time  she  thought  of  what  she  had 
undertaken,  and  the  danger  and  daring  of  it 
appalled  her.  All  the  possible  perils  of  the 
way  rushed  to  her  mind  —  the  savage  Indians, 
the  as  savage  wild  beasts,  and  the  danger  of 
missing  her  trail  in  this  deep  dark  forest  out  of 
which  she  could  never  hope  to  find  her  way 
unguided. 

And  then  came  a  new  horror.  In  her  sudden 
fright  she  had  lost  sight  of  the  blazings ! 

Never  once  before  through  all  the  night  had 
she  allowed  her  eyes  to  leave  the  last  till  they 
caught  the  gleam  of  the  next,  but  in  her  alarm 
she  had  forgotten  and  removed  them  from  the 
guiding  line. 

With  tensioned  sight  she  peered  into  the 
shadowy  depths  around  her,  but  no  answering 
gleam  met  her  searching  gaze.     She  buried  her 


THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£  II7 


face  in  her  hands,  and  then  with  rested  vision 
strained  out  into  the  surrounding  gloom  —  to 
right,  to  left,  behind,  and  ahead  r—  but  in  vain. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  fear-benumbed  senses 
that  with  the  daylight  she  could  easily  again 
find  the  blazings.  She  forgot  everything  but 
the  one  terrifying  thought  that  she  was  alone  in 
the  great  woods  and  lost.     Closing  her  eyes  she 

leaned  back  against  the  great  tree  under  which 
she  sat  and  yielded  to  her  fears.  But  as  her 
face  touched  the  tree  something  rough  on  the 
smooth  bark  scratched  her  cheek,  and  putting 
up  her  hand  to  seek  the  cause  she  found  it  to 
be  the  blazing.  In  her  terror  she  had  not 
thought  of  seeking  it  on  the  tree  under  which 
she  rested. 

In  dumb  joy  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her 
courage  returned.  And  keeping  the  white 
chippings  well  watched  she  set  out  again  on 
her  way. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  she  emerged  from 
the  forest  into  the  cultivated  fields  of  what  a 


ri 


'H 


Ml 


I  «■•    i 

m 


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i, 


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Il8  THE   COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PRE. 

few  days  before  was  the  quiet  picturesque  vil- 
lage of  Grand  Pr^,  with  its  hundreds  of  happy 
homes  and  contented  peasantry. 

Ulrica  looked  eagerly  in  the  fields  near  by 
for  the  cattle  Jake  Steignford  had  told  of,  but 
the  blazing  fires  and  military  clamor  had 
alarmed  them,  and  they  had  stampeded  to  the 
great  open  meadow  some  miles  farther  down. 
One  look  at  the  great  herd  was  sufficient  to  dis- 
pel her  vision  of  driving  or  leading  home  half 
a  dozen  of  them,  or  of  even  venturing  among 
them  to  select  but  one.  On  a  closer  look,  how- 
ever, she  saw  in  a  little  picketed  inclosure  not 
many  yards  distant,  a  large  handsome  cow 
feeding  quietly  on  a  patch  of  well-cultivated 
cabbages. 

Ulrica  recognized  at  once  that  this  animal 
was  a  full-blooded  Aldierney,  such  as  she  had 
seen  in  her  native  land,  on  the  great  farms  of 
the  Barons.  The  cow  had  been  imported  by 
one  of  the  wealthy  farmers.  Firearms  and 
soldiers  were  to  her  familiar  sights  and  sounds, 


aii  I 


W' 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PRE. 


119 


and  this  was  why  she  had  not  been  alarmed  and 
fled  to  the  meadow. 

Satisfied  that  she  could  not  easily  break 
loose  from  the  inclosure,  and  gaining  the  creat- 
ure's good-will  by  a  few  kind  strokes,  Ulrica 
looked  about  her  for  a  place  of  rest.  A  fear  of 
being  discovered,  and  a  naturally  morbid  desire 
to  look  upon  the  reminders  of  human  suffering, 
led  her  to  a  cellar  near  by,  and  going  down  into 
it,  she  seated  herself  on  the  lowest  stone  step 
and  took  from  her  kerchief  the  barley  bread, 
which  until  now  she  had  not  touched.  The 
bottom  of  the  cellar  was  covered  with  ashes 
and  brands.  In  the  middle  stood  the  chimney, 
built  square  and  large,  from  the  ground  to  the 
floor  of  what  had  been  a  farmhouse.  Once  in 
the  cellar,  shut  out  from  surrounding  sights,  and 
the  soothing  effects  of  satisfied  appetite  coming 
over  her  senses,  the  tired  girl  fell  asleep. 

When  she  awoke  the  morning  sun  was  an  houi 
high.  Half-dazed  with  a  returning  sense  of  her 
situation  she  tried  to  distinguish  the   reality 


i 


i'i 


m 


1  f*  i 


MM 


m 


i 


1 20  THE   COW-BELLS    OF    GRAND    Pr6. 

from  a  strange  dream  that  seemed  a  part  of  her 
surroundings. 

The  last  object  she  remembered  seeing  before 
going  to  sleep  was  a  very  red  brick  in  the  wall 
of  the  chimney  in  front  of  her.  When  she 
waked  her  eyes  were  on  this  brick,  and  in  her 
mind  was  a  recollection  of  having  pulled  it  out 
of  its  place  and  found  money  behind  it. 

The  trackless  ashes  on  the  cellar  bottom 
assured  her  that  she  had  not  been  to  the  chim- 
ney ;  but  the  red  brick  was  there,  and  now  with 
returning  senses  seemed  to  be  not  as  secure  in 
the  wall  as  the  others  about  it.  Rousing  all  her 
courage  she  walked  through  the  ashes  and 
placed  her  hand  upon  it,  and  to  her  great  aston- 
ishment found  it  loose.  Picking  it  from  its 
place  she  removed  it,  and  behind  it  were  bright 
gold  coins. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  she  could  so  far 
master  herself  as  to  touch  them.  Then,  almost 
frightened  at  herself,  she  took  them  from  their 
hiding  place  and  counted  them.     There  were 


II 


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i'3  A  JMI 

THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   Pr£.  1 23 


Vt 


twenty  in  number,  but  of  how  much  value  she 
did  not  know. 

Reasoning  that  the  owner  was  on  the  seas, 
probably  never  to  return,  she  wrapped  them  in 
her  kerchief  and  pinned  it  securely  in  the  folds 
of  her  dress-waist.  And  then  frightened  at  all 
the  strangeness  of  her  adventure,  and  eager  to 
get  away  from  t' ,  i  place,  the  girl  climbed  up 
into  the  open  air  again  and  looked  about  her 
for  the  cow.  It  was  still  in  the  inclosure. 
Willingly  the  great  sleek  creature  followed  the 
trend  of  the  rope  which  Ulrica  tied  about 
her  horns ;  and  —  refreshed  from  her  long  rest 
—  the  resolute  gkrl  started  out  through  the  for- 
est again. 


m 


i  U 


i''H 


Two  hours  before  this  the  paity  of  men 
started  from  the  Settlement.  Jake  Steignford 
had  roused  their  cupidity,  and  fifty  of  them  fol- 
lowed him  on  the  doubtfully  righteous  expedi- 
tion. All  through  the  day  they  traveled,  and 
about   midnight  they  were   preparing   to  halt 


.! 


124 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PRE. 


and  rest  until  dawn,  when  one  of  the  men 
who  had  gone  ahead  of  the  others  returned 
excitedly. 

"  Listen ! "  he  said. 

All  were  silent,  expecting  to  hear  the  approach 
of  some  wild  beast. 

"  It  is  a  bird  singing,"  said  one  of  the  men, 
breaking  the  silence. 

"  It  is  no  bird,"  said  Jake  Steignford.  "  It 
is  the  little  brazed  bell  the  Acadians  fasten  on 
the  necks  of  their  cattle." 

"  But  the  French  pastures  are  twenty  miles 
away,  man  !  "  said  half  a  dozen  voices.  "  And 
though  we  have  heard  the  signal  gun  from  the 
citadel  at  Halifax  three  times  as  far,  it  is  a 
devil's  wind  that  can  carry  the  sound  of  the 
cow-bell  through  twenty  miles  of  forest." 

"  It  is  a  French  bell,"  said  Jake,  "  and  I  am 
going  to  overhaul  it  even  if  it  should  be  on  the 
neck  of  a  witch." 

And  leading  the  way  he  started  on  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound. 


THF   COW-BELLS   OF  GRAND    Pr6.  1 25 


After  nearly  an  hour's  traveling  the  mellow 
tinkling  on  the  still  night  air  grew  nearer,  and 
more  than  one  stout  German  heart  began  to 
feel  the  effect  of  nursery  education  in  the 
Fatherland.  Jake  Steignford,  however,  was  firm 
in  his  expressed  opinion. 

Nearer  came  the  tinkling,  and  nearer,  and 
then  a  muffled  note  of  wonder  burst  from  the 
throat  of  every  man  as  they  came  upon  the 
cause  of  the  sound  and  saw  in  the  moonlit 
forest  the  great  sleek  cow,  and  leading  it  Ulrica 
Owenslaugen. 

For  an  instant  no  one  spoke.  Then  the  men 
comprehended  her  deed,  and  a  murmur  of 
applause  burst  from  their  lips,  breaking  into  a 
cheer  loud  and  long  as  the  girl  told  them  her 
adventures. 

Of  the  gold  she  did  not  speak.  They  gave 
her  food  and  drink,  and  a  little  after  dawn  she 
set  out  again  on  her  way,  and  the  men  resumed 
their  march. 

In  the  bustle  of  getting  the  party  off  for  the 


■V    1 


i  ■ 


m 


U»B 


'i 


Iti;  '■ 


mu 


l;      ll;!; 


126  THE   COW-BELLS    OF  GRAND   Pr€. 

cattle  forage,  Ulrica  had  not  been  missed  from 
the  Settlement,  and  there  was  much  excitement 
when  late  in  the  afternoon  she  appeared,  lead- 
ing the  fine  cow. 

The  next  morning  she  hesitatingly  handed 
the  captain  of  the  ship  four  of  the  gold  coins  to 
pay  the  passage  of  Conrad. 

"  Spanish  doubloons" !  said  the  captain,  eying 
the  girl  closely,  and  giving  her  back  a  handful 
of  silver  in  change,  and  two  of  the  gold  pieces. 
This  was  the  first  idea  she  had  of  their  value. 

The  month  of  May  brought  Conrad,  much 
improved  in  health  from  the  voyage  out.  And 
in  the  little  new  church  of  Saint  John  he  and 
Ulrica  were  married. 

The  small  cabin  was  soon  changed  for  the 
best  house  in  the  town,  planned  and  built  by 
Conrad  himself. 

To  this  day  farmers  in  the  county  of  Lunen- 
burg trace  back  the  pedigree  of  their  best  cows 
to  this  French  prize  of  Ulrica's.  The  little  bells 
that  are  the  pride  of  every  yoke  of  fine  oxen  in 


THE  COW-BELLS   OF   GRAND   PR^.  ,27 

the  county  are  made  after  the  pattern  of  the  one 
that  tinkled  so  mysteriously  in  the  forest  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago.  And  some  of  the 
richest  families  are  not  ashamed  to  trace  their 
genealogical  tree  back  to  a  peasant  girl  with 
gold  coins  pinned  in  her  dress. 


:!' 


»,; 


Ell  ! 

1,1  ' 


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I 

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V. 


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THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 

THE  ninth  of  May,  1745. 
Already  there  was  grass  over  the  salt 
marshes  and  green  leaves  on  the  earlier  forest 
trees  around  the  Acadian  Settlement  at  L'Equille. 
The  winter  had  been  mild.  For  weeks  the 
wind  had  blown  from  the  southwest,  clearing 
the  ice  from  the  Equille  and  Allen  Rivers,  and 
glinting  into  summer  blue  the  broad  beautiful 
Bason  into  which  these  sinuous  streams  emptied. 
But  the  French  inhabitants  at  L'Equille  found 
no  presage  of  comfort  in  the  elements,  nor  har- 
bingers of  better  times  in  mild  winter  and  early 
spring.  Louisburg,  the  only  fortified  place  in 
Acadie  held  by  their  countrymen,  was  besieged 
by  the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colonists,  and  the 

128 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


129 


emissaries  of  the  French  king  had  commanded 
them  to  furnish  food  and  munitions  of  war  to 
aid  in  the  defense,  menacing  them  with  the 
destruction  of  their  homes  if  they  refused.  The 
English,  to  whom  the  country  now  belonged, 
thrt  i.tened  with  death  or  exile  any  who  gave 
this  aid.  And  bound  further  by  the  oath  of 
fidelity  which  every  man  in  the  BanlieOe  had 
been  forced  to  take,  these  rural  people,  thus 
conquered,  commanded  and  threatened  on  all 
sides  by  their  fellow  men,  were  filled  with  unrest 
of  purpose  and  bitterness  of  spirit. 

The  only  man  among  them  who  dared  respond 
to  the  call  of  his  countrymen  was  Jean  Terriot, 
the  hunter,  hated  by  every  man  in  the  Banlieiie  ; 
and  there  was  much  excitement  when  it  became 
known  that  he  would  join  Marin's  party. 

On  this  morning  of  the  9th  a  group  of  the 
inhabitants  stood  on  the  Equille  Bridge,  idly 
watching,  as  they  talked,  a  canoe  rapidly  paddled 
up  the  tortuous  stream.  Their  talk  was  of  Jean 
Terriot. 


^ 


■'■    ! 


■1. 


3.1 


f 


130 


THE   INDIAN  GUARDIAN. 


h 


w. 


"  He  goes  on  the  morrow,  I  hear,"  said  the 
Padre. 

"  And  leaves  few  to  mourn  or  miss  his  loss  if 
he  never  returns,"  added  Pierre  Gascon, 

"  But  he  has  been  earnest  in  raising  men  to 
aid  our  countrymen,"  said  the  Padre,  who  did 
not  share  in  the  hatred  of  the  hunter.  "  I  hear 
that  four  hundred  of  our  people  in  other  parts 
of  the  Province  and  many  Indians  accompany 
him  :  two  sloops,  two  schooners  and  sixty  large 
canoes  embark  from  Port  Royal." 

"For  all  that,  we  like  not  this  same  Jean 
Terriot,"  put  in  Gascon  again.  "Neither 
French,  English  nor  Indians  can  trust  him  ;  he 
knows  too  much  of  the  affairs  of  each  for  any 
one  of  them  to  rely  upon  him.  A  good-for- 
nothing.  His  English  wife  was  no  help  to  him, 
and  it  was  a  wonder  he  found  so  pretty  a 
maiden  to  call  him  husband ;  but  no  wonder 
that  she  died  at  the  end  of  a  year.  Where  he 
will  quarter  his  child  while  away,  I  do  not  know  ; 
-'<  is  a  girl  and  but  two  years  old." 


THE    INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


131 


"Ask  him,"  said  another  of  the  men,  "ior 
yonder  he  comes ! " 

"  *Tis  little  he  will  tell  you,"  said  Gascon,  as 
the  canoe  came  around  the  broad  bend  and  its 
occupant  was  recognized  as  Jean  Terriot.  And 
raising  his  voice  the  speaker  added  in  harsh 
tones  :  "  Men  who  shun  prisons  and  carry  evil 
secrets  do  not  talk  much,  nor  hear  any  good  of 
themselves ! " 

The  man  kneeling  on  the  folded  skins  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe  must  have  heard  these 
sneering  words,  but  he  gave  no  heed  to  them 
or  to  the  group  of  men  who  looked  steadily 
down  upon  him  as  the  little  craft  shot  under 
the  Bridge  and  out  again  beyond  their  sight 
amid  the  windings  of  the  river. 

As  the  canoe  turned  the  first  curve  he  leaned 
forward,  and  drawing  aside  a  pile  of  furs  in 
front  of  him,  disclosed  a  sweet  mite  of  a  child 
sleeping  beneath ;  and  the  hard  and  haughty 
look  on  his  face  changed  to  one  of  infinite  ten- 
derness as  he  gently  passed  his  hand  over  the 


,'  Y 


■iJ 


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II 


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't 


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m 


%l  h 


132 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


golden  curls  which  showed  the  Saxon  blood  of 
the  mother  who  had  died  on  the  day  of  its 
birth. 

Up  the  river,  in  and  out,  around  the  endless 
flexures  the  canoe  sped,  and  a  mile  beyond  the 
Horseshoe  Curve,  where  dense  forests  lined  the 
shores  and  rocks  impeded  navigation,  stopped. 

Stepping  out  on  the  shore  the  man  took  the 
child  and  placed  it  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
lifted  the  canoe  from  the  water  and  stood  it 
behind  the  tree,  then  raised  the  child  in  his 
arms  and  started  on  through  the  forest.  He 
walked  with  rapid  tread  and  soon  came  upon  a 
well-beaten  path  that  led  to  a  clearing  where 
many  wigwams  were  built  in  the  order  of  an 
Indian  encampment. 

Without  a  word  or  even  a  nod  of  recognition 
to  the  Indians  who  lounged  about  the  trees, 
he  went  straight  on  to  a  taller  wigwam  farther 
removed  from  the  others,  and  pushing  aside 
the  boughs  that  partly  shielded  the  doorway, 
stepped  in. 


?' 


THE   INDIAN    GUARDIAN. 


133 


A  light  came  into  the  silent  taciturn  face  of 
the  Indian  who  sat  with  crossed  feet  before  the 
fire,  and  with  an  eager  gesture  of  welcome  he 
pointed  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  to  a  higher 
part  of  the  camp. 

But  the  Frenchman  did  not  speak,  or  notice 
in  any  way  the  salutation.  He  set  the  child 
down  by  the  fire,  and  turned  around  and  stood 
in  the  doorway  of  the  wigwam.  For  many 
minutes  he  stood  thus.  Then  he  went  in  and 
sat  down  by  the  Indian  who  in  all  this  time  had 
known  so  well  how  to  be  silent  while  another 
suffered. 

"Massaosit,"  said  the  Frenchman,  "you 
know  M.  Marin.  You  may  not  know  though 
that  Duchambou  has  sent  to  him  begging  help 
in  his  great  strait,  for  the  English  have  besieged 
the  French  fortress.  Marin  is  taking  many 
men,  taking  your  own  people  and  mine,  taking 
me.  I  have  no  friends  —  1  like  the  Frenchmen 
at  the  Settlement  not  at  all,  I  like  the  English 
less.     But  the  child  —  how  can  I  take  it,  yet 


U^ 


I 


I  I 


h 


^ 


33 


s 


! 

ij 


;  ::!    ii 


:    .^   .. 

■ 

1 1 

:     'I 

',    ! 

ii 
1 

IipI 

11 

N 


134 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


how  can  I  leave  it  or  live  without  it  ?  I  care  not 
to  let  it  be  with  the  settlers ;  they  will  say 
nought  but  bad  of  me,  and  the  only  being  who 
loves  me  shall  not  be  taught  to  hate  me.  You 
are  my  friend,  though  —  if  you  can  say  nothing 
good  you  can  at  least  be  silent ;  will  you  take 
it  ?  I  have  no  knowledge  when  I  will  return  ; 
it  may  be  one  year,  two  years." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then  the 
Indian  spoke. 

"  Massaosit  will  take  it,"  he  said.  "  Shall  he 
say  no,  when  his  friend  ask  of  him  ?  the  French- 
man save  the  Indian  from  drowning  once." 

"  You  promise  fair,"  said  the  Frenchman ; 
"so  do  the  English,  yet  they  break  their 
promises." 

"  This  tree,  English ! "  said  the  Indian,  point- 
ing through  the  doorway  to  the  bare  boughs  of 
a  birch-tree.  "  See,  green  in  summer,  it  look 
fair  and  you  not  know,  you  think  it  last  forever 
—  five  moons,  and  it  fades,  six  moons  and  again 
it    comes  —  that  is    English,   always    making. 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


135 


always  breaking.  Indian  is  fir,  spruce,  hem- 
lock —  once  so,  always  so.  I  say  I  take  it,  I 
take  it — twelve  moons,  many  twelve  moons, 
you  come  back  and  you  find  it.  That  is  all  I 
say  —  I  have  said." 

"  It  is  all  I  ask,"  said  the  Frenchman,  and  he 
bent  for  a  moment  over  the  child,  then  went 
out  of  the  wigwam  and  down  to  the  shore  where 
the  canoe  lay. 

In  silence  the  Indian  accompanied  him, 
launched  his  canoe,  gave  him  the  paddle  and 
waited  to  watch  him  out  of  sight. 

There  were  no  more  words  spoken,  no  more 
charges  given,  no  farewell  between  these  two 
so  widely  different  in  race,  so  strangely  alike  in 
life  and  character.  Alone,  in  the  silence  and 
coming  night,  on  the  verge  of  the  grand  old 
forest  untouched  by  the  devastating  axe  of  civ- 
ilization, the  Indian  stood,  watching  the  rapidly 
receding  canoe  as  it  floated  with  the  tide  down 
the  winding  river.  And  not  till  it  disappeared 
around  the  Horseshoe  Curve  above  the  Bridge 


11 


mm 


m 


'^  i 


H 


f^m 


!  I 


■11 


1 

-1, 

1 

i 

■if., 

'1 :  ■ 

i  i 

1 

■?  ■ 

i  ii 

1 

1 '  ■' 

'■-    1    ' 

1 1 : 

(i 

0\ 

il 

\ 

r     i. 

1  * 

-i"  ^  '    i'  ' 

m 

1     : 

i 

(A 

i; 

il 

136 


THE    INDIAN    GUARDIAN. 


did  he  turn  into  the  forest,  silent  and  stately  as 
the  giant  trees  among  which  he  wended  his  way 
back  to  the  wigwam  where  lay  the  sleeping 
child  so  trustingly  placed  under  such  strange 
guardianship. 

1756,  and  again  it  was  May. 

The  "  twelve  moons,"  the  "  many  twelve 
moons"  had  passed;  no  word  had  come  from 
the  Frenchman.  Since  the  day  eleven  years 
ago,  when  the  two  sloops,  the  two  schooners 
and  the  sixty  large  canoes  sailed  out  between 
the  precipitous  looming  hills  on  either  side  of 
St.  George's  Channel,  there  had  been  no  tid- 
ings of  him.  From  the  Indians  about  the 
Fort,  Massaosit  picked  up  the  news  of  the  fall 
of  Louisburg.  From  the  few  who  straggled 
back  from  Marin's  party  he  learned  thru  the 
fleet  had  been  met  at  Cape  Sable  and  chased 
by  armed  Provincials,  met  again  in  Ascomouse 
harbor  and  forced  to  land  to  escape  capture, 
reaching   Louisburg   in  July,  only  to  find  the 


THE    INDIAN    GUARDIAN. 


137 


Island  Battery  beaten  down  and  the  fortress  in 
possession  of  the  hated  English.  Of  Jean 
Terriot,  nothing  could  be  heard. 

But  into  the  harbor  of  Port  Royal  on  this 
May  morning  of  1756,  a  great  ship  sailed; 
moving  majestically  and  slowly  with  the  lazy 
wind  and  nearly  spent  tide,  up  the  placid  sun- 
lit sheet  of  blue  ocean  water;  a  large  ship,  with 
storm-beaten  sails,  and  the  British  flag  flying  at 
her  mast  head.  She  was  not  expected,  and  no 
one  knew  why  or  whence  she  came  except  as  the 
flag  indicated  her  nationality. 

With  lively  interest  the  people  watched  and 
guessed,  and  hoped,  and  feared,  till  the  mooring 
ground  was  reached,  and  a  boat  put  off  for  the 
shore. 

Among  those  who  landed  in  this  boat  was  a 
tall,  richly  dressed  man,  who  seemed  not  to  be 
a  stranger,  but  was  recognized  by  no  one  as  he 
walked  rapidly  through  the  street  with  the  step 
of  one  who  treads  familiar  ground.  He  drew 
the  attention  of  the  people,  but  took  no  notice 


1' 


i  .■" 


I: 


i    ti: 


1  1 

,  I 

f^  i 


138 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


of  them,  calmly  pursuing  his  way  through  the 
town  and  out  on  the  road  that  led  to  L'Equille. 

I'here  were  now  no  loiterers  on  the  Bridge 
to  conjecture  as  to  his  name  or  errand.  Here, 
as  at  Chignecto  and  Minas,  the  mandate  of 
tyrannical  necessity  had  been  well  obeyed,  and 
frjm  every  hamlet  and  field  the  helpless  Acadi- 
ans  driven  over  the  seas  or  into  the  forest. 

Without  pausing  to  look  about  him,  the 
stranger  kept  straight  on  till  he  reached  the 
rapids,  then  throwing  off  his  cloak  he  dashed 
into  the  forest  with  the  long  stealthy  step  of  the 
Indian  and  hunter,  and  the  confidence  of  a  man 
who  knows  where  he  is  jroinsf. 

The  trail  led  direct  to  the  clearing  where  the 
Indian  encampment  had  been,  but  there  was  no 
sound  of  human  life  about,  no  sight  of  human 
being,  and  the  smoke  from  only  one  wigwam 
fire  curled  up  tnrough  the  green  trees. 

At  the  entrance  of  this  wigwam  the  stranger 
uttered  the  Micmac  salutation,  but  not  waiting 
for  answer  stepped  inside  and  stood  before  the 


I,' 


ill 


■rftW^ 


m 


p 

N 

V 

^  i     iii 

1? 

^1' 

1  ' 

"s 

\ 

II 


\\ 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


141 


Indian  who  sat  in  the  centei  of  the  camp,  on  a 
bed  of  boughs. 

A  dark  scowl  of  suspicion  came  over  the  face 
of  the  Indian,  then  his  keen  glance  pene',.rated 
the  genteel  dress  of  the  intruder  and  recognized 
his  friend  Jean  Terriot.  Without  rising,  or  lay- 
in*^  aside  his  work,  he  said  : 

•Massaosit's  long-gone  friend  welcome  back," 
and  with  a  silent  gesture  pointed  to  the  rear  of 
the  camp  where  stood  the  child,  now  grown  to 
the  verge  of  girlhood. 

Stepping  eagerly  forward,  the  Frenchman  gath- 
ered her  in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  to  his  breast. 

When  he  turned  around  again,  the  Indian 
was  sitting  >'"^^'  to  him,  gazing  steadily  into  the 
fire,  as  '  from  out  its  blazing  coals  could  come 
the  cuurafc,"  ^  «'eded  to  make  him  keep  his  word 
anL  give  up  iVie  child  now  dear  to  his  heart. 

The  Frenchman  sat  down  beside  him  and 
with  trembling  lips  thanked  him  for  his  trust; 
told  him  of  the  voyage  to  Louisburg,  of  his 
tranF.p'>rtation  with  the  French  of  that  city  to 


t.tj.  I 


m 

!  •■'  i  f 


ill 


rrr 


:ii 


142 


THE    INDIAN    GUARDIAN. 


8:1: 


New  England,  and  thence  to  Rochelle  ;  of  the 
eight  years'  struggle  for  bread  and  life,  and  of 
the  hunger  of  heart  all  this  time  for  a  sight  of 
the  child.  Then  he  told  of  the  fortune  that 
finally  came  to  him,  enabling  him  to  command 
the  captain  of  a  ship  t-^  Boston  to  sail  into  Port 
Royal.     As   he    ceasec  '<i»ig>  with    lavish 

generosity  he  emptied  a  ienJ  'n  pouch  of  gold 
on  the  ground  at  the  Indian's  feet. 

Slowly  the  Indian  picked  the  glittering  pieces 
up,  held  each  separate  one  in  his  dusky  hand, 
and  with  each  look  at  the  gold  glanced  across 
at  the  child  who  sat  with  troubled  eyes  on  the 
ground  between  the  two  men.  One  by  one  he 
dropped  the  pieces  into  the  pouch,  held  it  for 
a  moment  before  him,  then  leaned  forward  and 
laid  it  on  the  Frenchman's  knee. 

"  Massaosit  need  no  gold,  want  none,"  he 
said.  "He  had  pay  every  day  better  than 
gold.  Every  sunset,  every  sunrise  he  has 
looked  for  his  friend  —  now  he  has  come  there 
will  be  empty  camp,  no  shining  hair,  no  bright 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


143 


eyes,  no  pretty  voice  "  —  and  stretching  out  his 
arms  toward  the  child  he  uttered  a  wild  wail 
like  a  bereaved  mother. 

The  child  sprang  to  his  side,  and  with  tender 
words  in  his  own  tongue  soothed  him  as  she 
laid  her  soft  cheek  against  his  swarthy  face  ard 
her  small  hands  upon  his  brow. 

For  a  long  time  the  three  sat  thus  and  talked 
together. 

With  eager  interest  the  Frenchman  listened 
while  the  Indian  told  him  of  the  terrible  dis- 
order that  broke  out  among  the  Indians  of  Isle 
Royal  the  year  of  the  taking  of  Louisburg, 
heaping  the  burial  mounds  of  their  fathers  high 
with  its  victims ;  how  it  spread  from  the  Isle  to 
the  Province  and  swept  away  hundreds,  coming 
at  last  to  the  encampment  at  L'Equille  and 
leaving  every  wigwam  but  Massaosit's  empty  of 
life.  Into  his  dwelling  the  evil  spirits  of  disease 
did  not  enter,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  child's 
head  he  said  solemnly,  "  The  bright  eyes,  the 
pretty  voice  kept  them  off." 


■5: 


!  t;  mm 


■V;S| 


^  ^ 


I  III 

:'  lit 


144 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


ns: 


liiM 


|J!.< 


|:'' 'i 


B-.  * 


i- 


il. ., 

1 

■  rt 

1 

PPi     I' 

Eil! 

m 

i, 

With  earnest  words  the  Frenchman  urged  the 
old  Indian  to  leave  the  lonely  spot  and  go  with 
them  to  France,  but  he  would  not  heed  their 
persuasions;  nor  would  he  accept  gift  or  pay 
for  his  long  care  and  trust. 

Sunset  came,  and  the  three  started  out  from 
the  wigwam,  along  the  same  path  the  two  had 
trodden  so  many  years  ago.  And  as  then  in 
silence  they  parted,  so  now  not  a  word  broke 
the  silent  gloom  abo;  as  '^:x  Indian  launched 
them  his  own  canoe,  gently  lifted  the  little 
maiden  into  it,  bent  and  kissed  the  "shining 
hair  "  and  then  turned  with  slow  steps  into  the 
black  forest. 

Three  days  the  Frenchman  delayed  the  sail- 
ing, and  each  day  went  up  the  river,  again  to 
urge  the  Indian  to  accompany  them  to  France, 
"but  found  only  a  deserted  camp  and  no  trace  of 
its  inmate. 

Then  the  ship  could  wait  no  longer,  and  on 
the  evening  of  the  third  day  set  sail  for  France. 
And  the  Frenchman  never  knew  that  a  single 


THE   INDIAN   GUARDIAN. 


145 


canoe  came  down  the  river  to  watch  it  leave, 
following  far  behind  in  the  wake  of  the  white 
l;rail  of  surf,  .ill  forced  by  the  waves  to  return. 
A  pouch  of  gold  was  left  in  trusty  hands  at 
Port  Royal,  that  the  Indian  need  never  want 
while  he  lived;  and  in  the  autumn  came  rich 
furs  and  broideied  blancoating.  He  never  saw 
them.  For  when  the  hunting  moon  was  a 
slender  silver  horn  Massaosit  was  gathered  to 
his  fathers,  stricken  with  the  same  deadly 
malady  that  had  carried  his  people  off  years 
before. 


1^1 


M-'A 


^^\ 


flp» 


VI. 


li    1 


H'i 


f 

1 

1   ■ 
1 

[    \     it 

A\] 

THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL'S    HARBOR. 

ON  the  southern  coast  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy, 
about  ten  miles  down  the  shore  from  the 
lofty  promontory  of  Cape  Split,  there  is  a  sud- 
den slope  of  the  mural  cliflFs  of  trap.  In  this  de- 
clivity is  a  narrow,  vault-like  opening  extending, 
with  but  slight  interruption,  from  the  shore  of 
the  Bay,  through  the  mountain  range,  to  the  fer- 
tile valley  at  the  south.  Midway  up  this  vault  a 
brook,  fed  by  perennial  springs,  flows  down  a 
rocky  channel  to  the  waters  of  the  Bay.  As  it 
nears  the  seaward  end  of  the  gorge  its  bed 
becomes  more  nearly  level  and  the  water  widens 
into  a  creek  up  which  the  tide  flows,  making  at 
high  water  a  safe  shelter  for  small  craft. 

In  the  early  morning  of  May  30,  18 13,  there 

146 


THE    PRIVATEER    OF    HALL's    HARBOR.       1 47 

was  anchored  at  the  entrance  of  this  creek  a 
small  vessel,  and  on  an  escarpment  of  the  cliff 
that  banked  the  brook  on  the  west  side  stood 
seven  men.  They  were  not  fishermen,  nor  was 
the  vessel  a  fishing  craft. 

The  lonely  boundless  beauty  of  the  blue  Bay, 
the  purple  mystery  of  the  opposite  heights,  the 
rugged  peaks  of  Chignecto  and  D'Or  lifting 
their  crests  above  the  gleaming  wave,  and  flash- 
ing ruddy  tints  along  their  sun-bathed  slopes, 
was  no  new  or  wonderful  sight  to  these  men  who 
were  the  captain  and  crew  of  the  trim  cutter- 
like craft.  Three  times  in  the  previous  year 
had  they  moored  the  cutter  outside  the  little 
creek.  Three  times  had  they  slept  on  the  es- 
carpment of  the  cliff,  and  each  time  had  they 
threaded  that  rocky  vault  through  the  wooded 
mountain  and  reached  the  fertile  valley  beyond. 

They  were  in  no  haste  this  spring  morning. 
The  longest  trail  to  the  valley  could  be  covered 
in  four  hours,  and  they  had  no  wish  to  reach  it 
until  nightfall. 


1  lf6- 


■ii 


■4 


[vi 


:m 


m 
ill 

iiiil 


I. 


n 


148      THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's    HARBOR. 

Six  of  these  men  were  middle-aged,  strong  and 
burly  of  build.  The  other  was  a  youth  of  about 
eighteen,  slight,  and  tall,  and  dark  of  face. 
Without  bidding,  this  lad  started  a  fire  among 
some  smoke-stained  stones  in  a  sheltered  slope 
of  the  cliff.  When  he  had  done  this  he  spoke 
for  a  moment  with  the  captain,  and  then  de- 
scended the  rocky  slope  to  the  creek  where  a 
boat  was  hauled  up  on  the  shore.  This  boat 
he  launched,  and  rowed  down  the  brook  and 
out  to  the  cutter,  boarded  her,  and  returned 
with  a  pail  and  some  empty  bags.  The  pail  he 
filled  with  fresh  water  from  the  foaming  mount- 
ain stream,  then,  going  to  where  the  men  were, 
he  threw  the  bags  on  the  ground. 

"  They  light  easy,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  And  they  carry  easier  than  they'll  carry  this 
time  to-morrow,"  said  the  youth  with  a  laugh. 

"  Get  the  water  heated,  and  be  off  on  your 
hunt  before  the  sun  gets  higher,"  interrupted 
the  captain. 

"  Aye,  I'll  be  off  in  time,"  said  the  lad,  lac- 


!  II  ' 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF   HALL  S   HARBOR. 


149 


ing  to  his  ankles  a  pair  of  stout  buskins  he  had 
brought  from  the  vessel. 

"  No  fear  but  he'll  be  willing  to  be  off,"  said 
another  of  the  men.  "  His  heart  will  outrun 
them  buskined  legs,  I'll  be  bound.  The  table- 
land holds  a  prize  he  is  anxious  to  capture." 

The  youth's  brown  face  flushed  red,  but  he 
made  no  reply. 

"  Aye,  he'll  find  the  land  all  right,"  said  the 
captain.  "  Six  months  make  little  change  in  a 
piece  of  ground ;  but  girls  and  table-lands  are 
not  alike  that  way,  lad,  so  don't  set  your  heart 
too  strong  on  seeing  her  as  you  left  her  last." 

The  lad  was  busy  about  the  food  and  took 
little  notice  of  the  jesting.  In  half  an  hour  the 
breakfast  was  through  with,  and  he  started  away. 

"  It's  the  straightest  road  we  want,  youngster," 
called  the  captain,  as  he  rounded  the  bend  of 
the  vault ;  "  the  straightest  road  and  the  fullest 
barns  and  shops.  Don't  venture  farther  down 
than  the  table-land,  and  remember  to  promise 
the  redskins  half  the  booty  —  a  half  promised 


^i 


I 

I:! 

hi 

■m 


m 


\f'  if 


•:il 


■  « 


:'l 


-li  < 


150       THE    PRIVATEER   OF    HALL  S    HARBOR. 

is  a  quarter  given,  and  that  Mary  Jane  of  ours 
can  sail  away  from  a  hundred  promises  if  her 
cabin  be  full  of  booty." 

It  was  a  few  hours  past  mid-day  when  the 
youth  returned.  He  found  the  men  anxiously 
waiting  his  arrival. 

"  The  'vay  is  clear,"  he  said ;  "  we  are  favored 
as  we  always  have  been.  The  houses  are  left 
unprotected  to-night  —  most  of  the  men  are 
down  to  the  river  mending  the  dykes,  and  they 
are  going  to  camp  on  the  spot.  The  Indians 
are  as  easy  to  buy  as  tobacco.  There  are  only 
three  camps  where  there  were  a  dozen  last  year, 
and  but  three  grown  men  and  some  boys  about 
them." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  men ;  "  tell  us  about  the 
maiden.  Are  her  eyes  as  yellow  and  her  teeth 
as  white  as  last  year,  or  was  she  smiling  on  a 
brave  of  her  own  tribe  ? " 

"  She  was  not  there,"  replied  the  youth. 
"  She  was  off  to  the  valley,  they  said." 


:i'   !' 


»0 


.1*' 


# 


■ 


THE    PRIVATEER   OF    HALLS    HARBOR.       15I 


"  Did  you  leave  your  trinket  ?  "  asked  one  of 
the  men. 

The  lad  looked  angrily  at  him.  "  What  trin- 
ket do  you  mean  >  "  he  asked. 

"  Tush,  lad ! "  said  the  captain,  "  a  jest  is  but 
a  jest ;  and  we  have  been  young  ourselves  not 
so  many  years  ago  that  our  eyes  were  not  yet 
sharp  enough  to  see  you  buy  the  trinket  last 
week  ;  and  you  sleep  so  sound  you  did  not  know 
it  slipped  from  your  waistcoat.  I  dare  say  the 
sight  of  it  brought  the  Indians  round  so  easy ; 
last  trip  they  were  hard  enough  to  coax.  But 
never  mind  the  girl  now,  we  have  our  hours 
counted  and  need  to  be  alert.  How  many  did 
you  say  there  were  in  the  camps,  lad  ? " 

"  Three,  and  the  boys ;  they  will  go  with  you 
and  lead  you  to  the  richest  plunder  —  they  say 
there  are  fifty  hams  in  the  Squire's  smoke- 
house." 

The  youth  was  to  be  left  behind  to  guard  the 
vessel  and  the  boat.  He  preferred  being  left, 
though  he  did  not  say  so.     It  was  not  more  than 


m 


m 

'  ''•.».?3 


ill 


■'5 1. 


m 


152       THE   PRIVATEER   OF   HALL'S   HARBOR. 


'f 


ft  - 


n 


III . 


; 


f  '3! 


a  year  since  he  had  joined  the  crew  of  the  Afary 
Jane.  He  did  his  part  bravely  and  heartily 
when  required,  but  at  each  trip  to  the  creek 
he  had  been  left  to  guard  the  vessel.  The  rest 
of  the  men  wondered  a  little  that  he  should  be 
kept  from  all  four  raids.  The  captain  had  his 
reasons  for  this  treatment ;  there  were  people 
in  the  valley  the  lad  did  not  care  to  meet,  even 
in  the  night.  Captain  Hall  knew  this  —  and 
knew  too  more  of  the  fertile  valley  than  the 
Indians  who  under  pretext  of  guides  had  been 
secured  as  allies ;  but  he  did  not  speak  of  it. 

"  Keep  more  than  half  you  know  to  yourself," 
he  said  when  he  engaged  the  youth,  "  and  don't 
let  what's  left  of  the  other  half  slip  out  of  your 
reach.  These  are  times  of  war,  and  words  are 
sometimes  more  dangerous  than  swords." 

There  was  a  weightier  reason  for  staying  this 
time  than  there  had  ever  been  before.  In  the 
cabin  of  the  cutter  was  a  strong  box.  Their 
last  sea-prize  had  been  a  rich  one,  and  in  the 
strong  box  was  two  thousand  dollars. 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's    HARBOR.       1 53 

Just  before  they  started  up  the  ;ault  the  cap- 
tain rowed  across  to  the  cutter  and  brought  back 
with  him  the  treasure. 

"  Here,  lad,"  he  said,  "  Mary  Jane  thinks  it's 
too  much  risk  for  her,  considering  the  sudden 
squalls  that  haunt  this  Bay.  Put  it  in  some 
kind  of  a  hole  in  the  ledge  till  we  are  back,  and 
once  we're  safe  in  port  again  there'll  be  some 
dividing  as  will  make  your  eyes  bulge — think 
of  that  for  company  while  we're  off ! " 

The  youth  had  not  been  gone  two  hours  from 
the  encampment  on  the  table-land,  when  the 
Indian  girl  returned.  This  table-land  was  a 
shelf-like  projection  that  made  out  from  the 
mountain  on  the  valley  side,  closed  from  sight 
toward  the  valley,  but  open  toward  the  mount- 
ain. For  years  there  had  been  a  considerable 
encampment  of  Indians  at  the  place ;  the  little 
brook  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  furnished  them 
fish,  the  stretches  of  beech  woods  game  and 
nuts.     But  late  years  both  game  and  fish  were 


it! 

i 


f 


(1  tA 

If 

'}     n 


I  ,w^ 


li 


I 


I!    r 


I 


;    :■    1 

f 
II 


ill'  i 


IH 


H 


154       THE    PRIVATEER    OF    HALL's    HARbOR. 

failing,  and  most  of  their  number  had  moved 
farther  up  the  valley.  The  others  were  going 
soon,  but  for  one  reason  and  another  the  mov- 
ing had  been  delayed. 

The  Indian  girl  was  glad  of  the  delay.  On 
each  occasion  of  the  other  raids  of  the  robbers 
the  youth  had  visited  the  table-land,  and  each 
time  he  had  smiled  on  and  talked  with  the  girl. 
The  last  trip  he  had  given  her  a  bright  coin  and 
told  her  to  wait  until  spring  and  he  would  bring 
her  a  chain  to  hang  it  on.  In  her  wild,  untaught 
way  she  remembered  and  kept  faith  in  the  prom- 
ise. When  she  returned  this  day  from  her  valley 
tramp,  she  was  met  with  the  news  of  the  white 
man's  coming  ;  and  less  welcome  news  than  that 
she  unwillingly  heard.  Her  people  had  turned 
traitor  to  the  robbers.  On  each  of  the  other 
expeditions  they  had  guided  and  assisted  them, 
and  fjr  each  service  hp''  *-eceived  a  reward. 
But  the  white  settlers  of  the  valley  offered  larger 
rewards.  Thrice  had  their  houses  and  stores 
been  broken  into,  and  not  a  night  but  they  lived 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALLS   HARBOR.       155 


in  terror  of  another  raid.  By  some  means  they 
discovered  that  the  Indians  at  the  encampment 
had  been  allies  and  guides,  and  not  daring  to 
threaten,  they  coaxed  and  bribed  the  redskins 
to  acquaint  them  of  the  approach  of  the  robbers 
should  they  again  visit  the  valley.  Promises  of 
corn  and  flour  in  abundance,  prevailed.  Mean- 
time d  company  had  been  formed  and  armed, 
to  fight,  and  preparations  made  so  that  with  an 
hour's  notice  the  men  could  be  gathered  and 
ready  for  duty. 

The  girl  had  not  been  acquainted  with  the 
turn  of  affairs,  and  knew  nothing  of  it  until  her 
return  from  the  valley  this  spring  day.  They 
gave  her  the  trinket  the  youth  had  left  —  a  shell 
necklet  of  East  India  make.  When  she  had 
clasped  it  about  her  dusky  throat  and  hung  upon 
it  the  glittering  coin,  they  told  her  of  their  plans 
and  of  the  promise  they  had  made  the  settlers, 
and  that  she  must  retrace  her  steps  to  the  near- 
est house  to  warn  them.  They  must  be  warned 
in  time,  for  they  had  planned  not  to  attack  the 


Ml 

'I 

Hi 


if'* 


11 


:« 


II 

l.Vi' 


'WSr 


1 


:M 


W'. 


Jlli 

ti 

I,! 


»!■■!  'i 


::!    ? 


I  i- 


H   ' 


156       THE   PRIVATEER  OF    HALL's    HARBOR. 

robbers  in  the  valley,  but  to  allow  them  to  se- 
cure their  plunder  unmolested  and  return  with 
it  to  the  shore.  Meanwhile  the  armed  men 
were  o  march  up  the  mountain  and  follow  the 
trail  to  the  cove,  where  they  would  lie  in  ambush 
and  wait  their  return.  They  would  be  weary, 
and  careless  of  attack,  and  easily  conquered  and 
captured,  and  the  settlers  could  then  search 
the  vessel  and  take  from  it  whatever  booty 
might  be  of  most  value  to  them. 

All  this  the  Indians  made  known  to  the  girl, 
and  ordered  her  on  her  errand. 

Quietly,  but  sullenly,  she  started  away  from 
the  camps,  her  heart  beating  a  protest  to  the 
treachery.  The  robbers  were  coarse  hard  men, 
she  cared  nothing  for  them,  but  the  red-cheeked 
youth  would  be  in  their  number  and  killed  with 
the  others. 

From  two  places  on  her  journey  she  could  be 
seen  from  the  camps,  and  she  well  knew  her 
unwillingness  to  go  had  been  noticed,  and  that 
keen  eyes  would  be  strained  for  a  sight  of  her 


1 1!! 


4 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF   HALL's   HARBOR.       1 57 

in  these  cleared  spots.  More  than  that,  they 
had  timed  her,  and  set  her  return  to  an  hour 
after  sundown.  Powerless  to  evade  the  errand 
the  dark-skinned  messenger  pursued  with  un- 
willing feet  the  well-worn  trail  to  the  white  men's 
habitations. 

At  the  first  cleared  spot  she  looked  back  ; 
she  saw  no  one  of  her  people,  but  knew  she  was 
seen  by  them.  On  she  went  again,  down  now 
on  the  edge  of  the  fertile  valley,  across  the  lit- 
tle brook  in  the  meadow,  and  out  again  to  the 
second  clearing.  On  from  that,  and  but  half  a 
mile  to  the  house  of  the  Squire. 

Once  there  her  errand  was  soon  told,  and  a 
messenger  started  away  for  the  dykes.  A  new 
thought  entered  the  heart  of  the  agile  girl.  If 
she  reached  the  camp  before  the  robbers  came 
she  might  in  some  way  let  them  know  of  the 
treachery  of  her  people.  The  thought  was  like 
wings  to  her  feet,  and  she  took  the  trail  back 
with  double  the  speed  of  her  coming,  and  long 
before  she  was  expected,  reached  the  table-land. 


i  M 


<(m 


m 


I 


irr 


158      THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's   HARBOR. 


l! 


^i'V 


\i 


The  robbers  had  not  yet  arrived. 

An  hour  or  more  after  sundown  they  came. 
The  Indians  welcomed  them  as  they  had  always 
done ;  and  for  a  while  they  rested  and  talked 
of  the  probabilities  of  the  booty  and  the  share 
that  would  fall  to  their  allies.  No  suspicion  of 
the  treachery  was  in  the  taciturn  faces  of  the 
Indians,  and  no  thought  of  it  entered  the  minds 
of  the  robbers.  Three  times  had  their  raids 
been  successful,  and  again  fortune  and  night 
seemed  in  their  favor.  The  men  were  away  from 
the  houses,  the  night  would  be  dark  until  twelve, 
and  after  that  the  moon  would  rise  and  light 
their  return  journey  to  the  shore. 

The  girl  supposed  the  lad  would  be  with  the 
men  and  that  she  could  speak  with  him,  but  as 
she  listened  to  their  talk  she  heard  them  tell 
that  he  had  been  left  behind  to  guard  the  vessel. 
She  had  been  with  the  settlers  much  of  her  time 
and  understood  English  readily,  so  could  follow 
the  men  as  they  told  of  the  way  they  took ;  now 
down  in  the  vault,  now  up  on  the  mountain  side, 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF   HALL's    HARBOR.       1 59 

down  again  by  the  brink  of  the  brook,  and 
straight  from  that  to  the  slope  of  the  cliff  where 
the  youth  kept  watch.  She  knew  that  by  early 
dawn  there  would  meet  him  men,  armed  and 
ready  to  torture  and  slay.  She  slipped  away 
from  the  opening  where  she  had  been  listening, 
and  back  into  her  camp,  and  with  one  hand 
clasping  the  necklet  lay  down  with  the  children 
who  were  already  asleep.  Her  quick  brain  had 
formed  a  purpose. 


11 


When  the  waning  moon  shone  above  the 
beech  grove  to  the  east,  the  girl  arose  and  crept 
from  the  camp.  The  robbers  and  their  treach- 
erous allies  had  long  been  gone.  The  squaws 
and  children  were  sleeping.  There  were  no 
lights  in  the  valley  below.  The  robbers  must 
be  through  their  plundering  and  soon  would  be 
starting  on  the  return  tramp. 

By  another  trail  the  armed  men  must  now  be 
creeping  up  and  over  the  mountain  side.  There 
was  a  trail  on  the  east  and  one  on  the  west  side 


1 II  III 


;il:l 


m 

tit 


\ll 


;  't 


1 60      THE   PRIVATEER   OF   HALL's    HARBOR. 

the  gulch ;  which  way  they  had  taken  the  girl 
did  not  know,  but  she  knew  they  must  be  an 
hour  ahead  of  her,  and  if  she  was  to  reach  the 
cove  before  them  her  feet  must  make  no  tarry- 
ing. Already  she  was  weary  from  her  long 
tramp  to  the  settlement,  but  lithe  of  limb  and 
persistent  of  purpose  she  started  forth,  entered 
the  beech  woods,  crossed  the  head  of  the  gorge, 
and  took  the  western  trail. 

Ahead  of  her,  ascending  the  brow  of  the  mount- 
ain, was  the  company  of  armed  men.  The  way 
was  new  to  them,  they  were  slow  in  making  it, 
they  lost  time.  It  was  new  to  the  girl ;  but  she 
was  not  slow,  and  she  lost  no  time.  The  moon 
was  unclouded  ;  native  instinct  guided  her  moc- 
casined  feet  over  the  rough  ground,  and  with 
her  heart  full  of  the  purpose  to  save  the  life 
of  the  white  lad  who  kept  watch  on  the  cliff 
by  the  shore  of  the  Great  Water,  she  pressed 
forward. 

On  went  the  armed  men.  Fast  behind  came 
the  fleet  feet  of  the  maiden.     Behind  her  the 


t  "k 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's    HARBOR.       l6l 


rough  robbers  laden  with  plunder,  and  behind 
them  the  treacherous  Indians,  intent  on  getting 
a  double  share  of  booty.  All  journeying  to  the 
same  point,  each  inspired  with  a  different 
purpose. 

On  through  the  forest  in  the  quiet  night  went 
this  strange  procession.  The  armed  men  ahead 
and  descending  the  vault,  gaining  rapidly  upon 
them  the  brave  girl,  and  following  fast  on  her 
steps  the  robbers. 

On  hastened  the  armed  men.  They  did  not 
know  their  blunder:  the  youth,  the  Indian 
maiden  and  the  robbers  were  on  the  west  side 
the  gorge,  they  had  taken  the  east.  And  as  it 
neared  the  shore  the  vault  became  deeper  and 
the  mountain  stream  grew  wide  and  washed 
high  against  its  steep  rocky  banks. 

When  morning  began  to  dawn  a  low  belt  of 
fog  skirted  the  Bay.  The  lofty  promontories 
assumed  fantastic  shapes.  The  islands  pre- 
sented a  delusive  appearance.    The  white  mist 


!  ■'!' 


-     > 


mi 


w 


■'  k 


l62       THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's   HARBOR. 


:i.h 


mi 


fi^  I 


i  :'" 


parted  them,  banked  them,  tipped  them,  blent 
their  jagged  peaks  with  the  sky.  Slowly  the 
grayness  thickened  into  a  dull  fog ;  the  opposite 
shore,  the  bold  headlands,  the  islands  and  finally 
the  blue  waters  of  the  vast  Bay  were  lost  to 
view. 

At  the  first  gleam  of  daylight  the  young  man 
had  rowed  down  the  creek  and  boarded  the 
vessel.  A  light  breeze  was  springing  up  from 
the  east ;  it  was  the  breeze  they  needed  to  take 
them  down  the  Bay.  Knowing  this,  and  that 
the  captain  would  sail  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
his  plunder  on  board,  the  lad  loosened  the  sails, 
and  as  far  as  could  be  done  made  ready  to 
weigh  anchor. 

The  ever-lurking  Bay  fog  was  fast  gathering 
over  the  shore,  and  by  the  time  he  had  reached 
his  outlook  on  the  cliff,  it  had  penetrated  the 
woods  and  wrapped  its  gray  drapery  about  the 
tall  green  pines,  and  lay  like  a  great  bank  over 
the  creek  and  against  the  steep  sides  of  the 
rocky  gorge. 


m 

h  m 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's   HARBOR.       1 63 

Not  a  rod  could  his  sight  pierce  its  damp  den- 
sity. Wailed  in  on  every  side  he  waited  the  re- 
turn of  the  robbers.  Soon  the  sound  of  voices 
at  a  distance  fell  upon  his  quick  ear  and  he 
sent  a  shrill  whistle  into  the  dull  mist.  It  was 
not  answered.  The  voices  sounded  nearer,  and 
came  from  the  east  side  the  gorge.  He  was 
puzzled  —  the  robbers  never  went  or  came  by 
that  trail ;  but  again  he  gave  the  signal  whistle 
and  listened  for  reply. 

Directly  there  came  through  the  mediumistic 
mist  the  sharp  click-click  of  the  cocking  of  guns. 
At  the  same  instant,  out  of  the  gray  obscurity 
above  him  rushed  the  Indian  maiden,  with  her 
long  black  hair  tangled  about  her  round  neck 
and  brown  oval  face.  Panting  for  breath,  and 
nearly  exhausted,  she  did  not  speak,  but  pointed 
across  the  creek  whence  the  sounds  had  come, 
and  down  to  the  boat  on  the  little  beach. 

Vaguely  the  lad  interpreted  her  wild  gestures, 
and  seizing  the  mute  girl  in  his  strong  arms  de- 
scended the  cliff,  and  placing  her  in  the  boat, 


.1! 

M 


i  m 

•sjli 


m  ■ 


m 


iiif 
m 

Hi! 

11,1 


I 


164      THE   PRIVATEER  OF    HALL's    HARBOR. 


■Ji 


I*.' 


! 


W"  ■' 


11 


Km  '    ''I 


shoved  off  from  the  sliore.  The  report  of  a  mus- 
ket came  from  the  direction  of  the  voices  and 
the  bullet  struck  the  water  near  them. 

Believing  now  that  the  girl  was  for  some  rea- 
son being  hunted,  and  fearing  to  locate  the  boat 
by  any  noise,  he  allowed  it  to  drift  with  the  out- 
going tide.  The  fog  was  their  only  protection  ; 
each  understood  this,  and  neither  ventured  a 
word  till  the  rushing  waves  had  borne  them  out 
of  range  of  the  guns.  Then  the  girl  brokenly 
told  the  lad  who  the  men  were  on  the  east  bank 
and  why  they  were  there. 

Quickly  he  comprehended  the  situation,  and 
with  the  impetuosity  of  boyhood  seized  the  oars 
and  rowed  rapidly  toward  a  rocky  point  at  the 
entrance  to  the  creek.  It  was  in  that  bank  he 
had  laid  the  strong  box,  and  he  must  secure  it 
at  any  peril.  The  noise  of  the  rowing  located 
the  boat,  and  shot  after  shot  from  the  bank  of 
fog  rang  out  upon  the  stillness  of  the  mist-laden 
air,  and  bullets  skipped  on  the  water  around 
them.     But  these  were   sounds  and  sights  not 


W', 


THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's   HARBOR.       165 

unfamiliar  to  the  youth,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  boat  touched  the  shore. 

At  the  same  instant  the  robbers  burst  out  of 
the  fog-shrouded  forest  and  hastened  toward  the 
boat.  They  had  heard  the  firing,  and  run  the 
last  two  miles  of  the  trail. 

"  Valley  men  —  Indian  traitors,"  said  the  lad, 
and  a  volley  of  musketry  from  the  invisible 
shooters  echoed  his  words. 

"  Never  mind  the  box,"  cried  the  captain,  as 
he  returned  the  fire.  "  We  will  come  back  for 
it  if  we  live,  and  if  we  don't  the  devil  will  guard 
it  forever."  Then  placing  his  gun  in  the  boat 
and  ordering  the  men  aboard,  he  took  the  ter- 
rified girl  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to  a 
safe  place  behind  a  great  rock,  pulled  from  his 
pocket  a  well-filled  leather  purse,  gave  it  to 
her  and  bade  her  stay  there  till  the  fog  cleared 
away. 

Hardly  had  he  reached  the  boat  and  the  boat 
gone  thrice  her  length  from  the  shore,  when  the 
girl  rushed  toward  the  water  with  a  wild  scream. 


W 


m 


m 


l66      THE   PRIVATEER   OF    HALL's    HARBOR. 


PI' 

m 
,1 


ii 


ir3 


-  I:- 

^  t   ■ 


A  look  in  her  direction  discovered  the  treacher- 
ous Indians,  cautiously  descending  the  gorge. 

"They  will  kill  me,"  she  cried  piteously. 
Maddened  at  sight  of  his  faithless  allies  the  cap- 
tain ordered  the  boat  back  to  the  point.  He 
was  too  late ;  again  the  roar  of  musketry  echoed 
among  the  hills,  and  as  they  touched  the  shore, 
the  Indian  maiden's  life-blood  soaked  into  the 
salt  sand,  and  the  lad  who  had  sprung  forward 
to  rescue  her  sank  with  a  cry  upon  the  boat's 
bottom,  dead. 

Taking  quick  aim  the  captain  fired,  and  laid 
low  the  foremost  of  the  skulking  savages,  then 
seizing  the  tiller  ordered  the  boat  to  the  cutter. 

From  the  cliff,  into  the  immensity  of  the  fog 
went  volley  after  volley.  From  over  the  water 
came  only  the  muffled  sound  of  oars  in  the  row- 
locks, the  rattling  of  chain,  and  the  dull  flapping 
sound  of  sails. 

The  breeze  freshened.  The  dun-dripping 
vapor  lifted  —  from  the  tree-tops  —  from  the 
cliff  —  from  the  blue  swishing  water  of  the  great 


[^ 


THE    PRIVATEER   OF    HALLS    HARBOR. 


167 


Bay.  And  bearing  toward  the  ruddy  headland 
of  D'Or  gleamed  the  white  sails  of  the  bold 
privateer,  filled  with  the  wind  that  blows  always 
good  to  some  one. 


Many  who  tell  the  story  claim  that  the  vessel 
went  down  in  a  gale  that  very  night,  and  all  her 
crew  were  lost.  Others  say  she  was  wrecked, 
but  some  of  the  men  were  saved,  and  that  these 
men  came  back  to  search  for  the  strong  box. 
The  first  settlers  at  the  Harbor  found  holes 
digged  in  the  banks  of  the  brook.  The  holes 
have  since  been  thrice  multiplied  —  with  what 
success  is  not  positively  known  —  but  it  is  a 
general  belief  that  the  treasure  has  never  yet 
been  found.  They  who  have  searched  for  it  tell 
that  the  Mary  Jane  haunts  the  creek  ;  that  when 
they  begin  to  dig  a  white  sail  gleams  off  the 
rocky  point,  the  sound  of  oars  is  heard,  and  six 
bearded  men  and  a  smooth-faced  youth  come 
up  from  the  water  and  surround  the  place  where 
they  are  digging. 


I 


m 


l68      THE    PRIVATEER   OF   HALL's    HARBOR. 

None  have  dared  to  pursue  the  search  after 
sight  of  that  phantom  crew. 

The  Indian  girl  was  buried  beneath  a  great 
pine-tree  that  still  stands  near  the  table-land, 
its  evergreen  foliage  bright  as  in  the  days  so 
long  ago. 

It  is  years  since.  But  the  creek  still  cuts  into 
the  mural  cliff,  the  gorge  still  rends  the  wooded 
mountain,  the  purple  mystery  still  hangs  over 
the  rugged  heights. 

In  "  34  "  settlers  built  under  the  shadow  of  the 
lofty  cliff,  and  a  road  winds  now  down  either 
headland  bank.  The  place  is  known  as  Hall's 
Harbor,  called  after  the  man  who  seventy  and 
seven  years  ago  moored  the  Mary  Jane  in  the 
little  creek,  and  under  guise  of  sanctioned  war- 
fare made  a  highway  of  the  mountain  gorge  to 
plunder  his  native  land  of  Acadia. 


i 


VII. 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


'T^WELVE  miles  above  the  old  Fort  at  Port 
-■-  Royal,  the  Annapolis  River  makes  a  bend 
of  its  clayey  banks  toward  the  south,  to  receive 
into  its  tawny  waters  a  clear  mountain-stream, 
up  which  the  Bay  of  Fundy  tide  urges  the  turbid 
waters  of  the  river  for  a  distance  of  half  a  mile. 
At  the  confluence  the  banks  of  this  stream  are 
low  and  level ;  above  tide-reach  they  are  high 
and  precipitous,  and  extend  in  a  gradual  rise  to 
the  irregular  upheaval  of  granite  and  slate  that 
forms  the  range  of  hills  called  South  Mountain. 
For  one  hundred  and  eighty  years  this  stream 
has  been  known  as  Bloody  Creek.  Its  waters 
are  not  more  tawny  than  the  river  which  receives 
them,  nor  are  its  banks  more  ruddy,  but  for 

169 


m 


170     THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 

nearly  two  centuries  it  has  borne  this  sanguinary 
appellation. 


i,  j 
r  i 


In  the  autumn  of  17 10,  Port  Royal  was  be- 
sieged and  gallantly  taken  by  the  English.  The 
Fort  was  in  a  wretched  broken-down  condition, 
and  the  English  captors  at  once  began  the  work 
of  facing  it  with  pieces  of  round  timber  six  or 
seven  inches  in  diameter.  But  the  unusual 
severity  of  the  winter,  and  a  terrible  disease  that 
broke  out  among  their  troops,  killing  more  than 
three  hundred  of  the  five  hundred  soldiers  left 
in  garrison  by  General  Nicholson,  had  retarded 
the  progress  of  the  work;  and  in  April  of  17 11, 
the  Commander  gave  orders  for  the  French 
settlers  in  the  Banlieue  and  up  the  river,  to 
immediately  furnish  the  truncheons  needed  for 
its  completion. 

One  reason  and  another  was  urged  by  the 
French  as  excuse  or  delay,  and  the  order  was 
not  obeyed.  In  May  the  order  was  changed  to 
promises  of  high  prices  for  all  who  would  bring 


THE   STORY   OF    BLOODY  CREEK. 


171 


the  batons ;  still  there  was  no  response.  The 
offer  was  changed  to  a  threat,  followed  by  force, 
and  when  resistance  was  made  to  the  force,  five 
of  the  chief  men  of  the  habitants  were  arrested, 
put  in  irons,  and  held  as  hostages  for  the  good 
faith  of  their  countrymen. 

Two  weeks  elapsed ;  the  habitants  were  full 
of  perplexity  and  despair.  Their  chief  advisers 
had  been  the  imprisoned  men ;  their  priest, 
Father  Justinian,  a  Recollet  friar,  had  been 
seized  by  the  English  early  in  January  and  sent 
to  Boston  to  be  imprisoned ;  communication 
with  the  Settlements  about  the  Basin  and  the 
head  of  the  Bay  was  cut  off,  and  hey  were  with- 
out council.  As  day  succeeded  day,  and  one 
expediency  and  another  failed,  a  new  spirit  be- 
gan to  be  manifest,  that  of  submitting  for  the 
sake  of  their  imprisoned  countrymen,  and  yield- 
ing to  the  command,  which  they  well  knew  was 
but  one  step  removed  from  the  hated  and 
avoided  yoke  of  allegiance.  This  feeling  cul- 
minated en   the    twenty-eighth    day  of    June. 


li 


m 


^:i 


172 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


Early  that  morning  a  report  had  reached  them 
that  if  the  batons  were  not  brought  to  the  Fort 
before  noon  of  the  thirtieth,  new  and  effectual 
means  would  be  taken  to  compel  compliance. 

Did  the  threat  mean  that  the  five  innocent 
hostages  would  be  executed  ?  this  was  the 
thought  that  rushed  to  the  heart  of  every  one  as 
he  heard.  There  was  earnest  talk  among  them, 
and  but  two  of  all  the  habitants  held  to  their 
idea  of  continued  resistance.  These  were  two 
young  men,  sons  of  Pierre  Landrie,  one  of  the 
prisoners  at  the  Fort.  At  sundown  they  were 
seated  in  the  doorway  of  their  house  ;  they  had 
met  with  hot  speech  the  hopeless  words  of  their 
elders,  but  as  they  sat  apart  in  the  quiet  of  the 
hour,  their  own  courage  was  fast  forsaking  them. 

A  movement  in  the  bushes  on  the  little  hill 
above  them  attracted  their  attention,  and  both 
looked  at  once  in  the  direction  of  the  noise. 
Down  one  side  the  hill  the  trees  had  been  partly 
cleared,  and  in  this  cleared  space  stood  a  woman 
bending  over  a  grave.    The  golden  bars  of  sun- 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


173 


light  slanting  through  the  dark  spruces  flecked 
the  white  headstone  and  the  bare  brown  mound 
it  marked.  The  blood  sprang  to  the  faces  of 
both  men  as  they  looked. 

"When  I  see  that  grave,"  said  Pierre  the 
younger,  "  I  would  dare  a  thousand  deaths 
rather  than  soil  my  lips  with  the  form  of  a 
British  oath." 

Presently  the  woman  turned,  and  walked 
down  the  little  slope  and  into  the  path  that  led 
to  the  house.  As  she  crossed  the  road  that 
led  to  the  Fort  she  paused  for  a  moment  and 
gazed  intently  down  it,  then  pursued  her  way. 
When  she  reached  the  young  men  she  said, 
"  That  man  must  be  killed ;  if  you  do  not  do  it, 
I  will,"  and  hurried  past  them  into  the  house. 

The  men's  eyes  followed  her  gaze  down  the 
fortress  road,  and  they  saw  walking  leisurely  up 
it  a  stranger ;  not  one  of  their  countrymen  and 
evidently  not  an  Englishman. 

"If  Father  Justinian  was  not  behind  iron 
bars  I  could  swear  it  was  his  gait,"  said  Pierre. 


if 
if 


■HI 


J 


I  ill.. 


r* 


I:' 


m 


i  ; 


i<  I 


■,  I 


if^ 


174 


THE   STORY   OF   BLOODY   CREEK. 


"  Would  Heaven  it  was !  "  said  the  other. 
"  We  would  not  be  a  minority  with  him  to  lead, 
but  they  have  threatened  his  life  if  he  comes 
here  again.  It  is  very  like  him,  but  not  more 
so  than  our  mother's  face  was  like  his  as  she 
stood  there  by  the  grave ;  I  could  easily  have 
taken  her  for  him  had  she  been  in  his  priestly 
robes." 

The  stranger  approached  them  and  nodded 
carelessly  as  he  met  their  gaze. 

"  I  am  no  Englishman,  and  I  would  die  sooner 
than  submit  to  the  cursed  dogs,"  he  said.  "  Is 
my  speech  strong  enough  to  convince  you  I  am 
no  enemy  ? " 

"  It  is  strong  enough  to  keep  you  inside  the 
fortress  gates  if  they  inside  heard  it,"  said 
Frangois. 

■"  I  have  been  inside  them  not  an  hour  since," 
replied  the  stranger  calmly,  "  and  I  came  out  as 
easily  as  I  went  in  —  but  I  used  no  such  words 
while  in  "  — 

"  And  you  think  to  carry  back  some  words  of 


THE   STORY    OF    BLOODY    CREEK. 


175 


ours,"  interrupted  Pierre   hotly,   rising  as  he 
spoke. 

The  stranger  gazed  quietly  and  steadily  into 
his  eyes. 

"  I  carried  nothing  in,"  he  said,  "  I  carried 
much  out.  To-morrow,  at  midnight,  eighty 
picked  men  of  the  garrison  will  march  up  the 
river  to  the  Creek,  burn  down  your  mill  and  the 
houses  of  N^our  people  settled  near  it,  and  take 
every  man,  woman  and  child  prisoner.  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  and  at  once." 

"Nothing  can  be  done,"  replied  the  young 
men,  "  there  is  no  spirit  left ;  the  people  will 
b  bmit  to  this  as  they  have  to  other  things. 
Except  we  two,  all  are  determined  to  obey  the 
order ;  there  is  no  leader  to  urge  them,  and  the 
men  are  all  such  as  need  to  be  led." 

The  woman  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  be- 
hind the  young  men,  tall,  and  pale,  and  calm  as 
stone. 

"  If  it  is  a  leader  they  lack,  lead  them  !  "  she 
said.    "  The  Landrie  blood  in  your  veins,  your 


111 


'  1 

;?     :l 

1  l\ 

1    lU 

%  ii 

'1;  Pf'J 

} 


m 


mm 


i 


l! 


176 


THE   STORY    OF    BLOODY  CREEK. 


ii 


1- 


m 


l'l:--'nb^ 


i.  .<■ 


ii' 


W 


i\ 


father  their  prisoner,  your  sister  their  victim,  is 
not  this  enough  to  incite  you?  —  that  man  must 
be  killed ;  if  you  do  not  do  it,  I  will ! " 

The  words  were  hot  and  passionate,  but  they 
seemed  to  proceed  from  lips  of  stone,  as  she 
stood,  statue-like,  in  the  dim  light. 

The  stranger  started  with  surprise  when  she 
spoke,  and  as  she  passed  out  of  the  house  and 
disappeared  in  the  dusk  that  was  fast  gathering 
among  the  great  trees  that  bordered  the  little 
graveyard  on  the  slope,  he  turned  inquiringly 
to  the  men. 

"What  does  she  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  said  Pierre,  "  and  I  have 
neither  heart  nor  will  to  tell  it  all  —  my  only 
sister  lies  up  there  in  that  burying  ground. 
She  died  because  she  believed  the  lying  words 
of  an  English  officer  at  the  Fort,  who  told  her 
he  loved  her.  She  died  in  May,  and  since  then 
my  mother  has  been  as  you  see  her,  her  last 
words  are  always  as  you  heard  them,  and  since 
they   have  taken  my   father   prisoner  she  has 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


177 


been  like  one  in  a  dream.  Every  day  she  goes 
up  there  to  watch  for  Father  Justinian — she 
says  he  is  coming,  and  if  we  hold  out  till  he 
comes  the  English  tyrants  will  be  killed  —  I 
have  thought  so  too,  but  the  priest  cannot  now 
get  here  in  time  to  save  us." 

"  There  are  twenty-four  hours  of  time  left," 
said  the  stranger.  "  I  came  here  to  tell  you  the 
message.  If  the  priest  comes  in  that  time  he 
will  have  bloody  work  on  hand.  I  am  going  to 
the  Indians  up  the  river,  they  may  like  to  know 
what  I  have  told  you." 

"  You  ! "  cried  both  the  men,  "  what  can  you 
do  ?  How  can  you  go  there  unguided  ?  The 
Indians  do  not  like  to  see  men  in  your  garb,  we 
will  go  too,  they  know  us." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  said  the  man,  "  and  in 
some  way  get  half  a  dozen  of  your  people  to 
follow  you.  The  English  will  send  all  their 
strong  men  on  the  march ;  they  must  be  caught 
and  killed,  the  Fort  will  then  be  easy  of  capture. 
But  the  killing  must  be  done  by  the  Indians, 


f^ 


'.ill 


,  41 


I1 

:■>   ft 


if 


m 


fit 


tt*i 


iWiyiiii 


!i 


j1 


PI* 


,,H 


nl 


i 

I 

ii 


lii 


^^Hfil 


178 


THE   STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


and  on  the  shores  of  the  Creek.  They  will  do 
the  fighting  with  half  a  dozen  Frenchmen  to 
lead  them  on,  and  these  French  leaders  you 
must  in  some  way  get  —  I  am  not  used  to  par- 
ley, a  little  earlier  than  this  time  to-morrow  I 
will  meet  you  here." 

And  not  pausing  for  further  words  he  walked 
down  the  path  to  the  fortress  fork,  where  he 
disappeared  a  few  moments  in  the  clump  of 
trees.  When  he  emerged  again  on  the  path  he 
carried  on  his  stooped  shoulders  a  large  bundle, 
and  walking  rapidly  he  crossed  the  meadow- 
road  and  disappeared  in  the  thick  woods  to 
the  south. 

When  dawn  rimmed  the  hills  behind  the  en- 
campment at  the  head  of  the  Creek,  the  In- 
dians were  already  up,  and  moving  about  from 
camp  to  camp.  Word  had  come  from  Gaulin, 
the  *'  warrior  priest  "  at  Placentia,  for  them  to 
repair  to  the  head  of  the  Bay,  to  assist  and  en- 
courage the  French  to  resist  an  expected  attack 
of  the  English  troops  on  the  Settlements.    As 


THE   STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


179 


they  went  about  their  camps,  busying  themselves 
in  the  preparations  for  departure,  Father  Jus- 
tinian suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst. 

They  had  not  seen  his  approach  until  he 
stood  among  them.  In  the  dim  dawnlight  and 
shadowed  by  the  great  trees,  he  seemed  an  ap- 
parition, and  many  of  them  fled  as  they  saw 
him. 

He  had  changed  in  the  six  months'  imprison- 
ment. His  hair  was  no  longer  tonsured,  nor 
was  his  face  shaven.  But  the  large  loose  cov- 
ering on  his  head,  the  gray  garment  of  serge, 
girdled  with  a  knotted  cord,  and  the  wooden 
sandals,  were  the  habiliments  of  his  Order  ;  and 
his  voice  at  once  assured  them  of  his  identity, 
as  calling  several  of  them  by  name,  he  began  to 
speak  to  them  in  a  patois  of  French  and  Mic- 
mac  much  used  by  the  missionaries  after  long 
association  with  a  particular  portion  of  the 
tribe. 

He  was  weary  and  in  want  of  food,  and  while 
he  rested  and  ate  he  told  them  of  his  escape 


M 


1.4 
Ml] 


'm 


1  u  i 
'  .'  .1 


iiHiiiia 


H 


5  (J  • 


i8o 


THE   STORY  OF   BLOODY   CREEK. 


n; 


i.  m: 


from  prison,  and  his  secret  journey  back  to  his 
people.  Then  quickly  following  upon  this,  he 
told  them  the  English  soldiers  were  to  march  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Creek  that  night,  and  at  day- 
light attack  not  only  the  settlers,  but  their  own 
encampment  as  well. 

The  Indian  blood  was  fired  ;  and  stimulated 
by  the  presence  of  their  spiritual  leader,  they 
wr.re  hot  for  assault.  All  the  morning  the 
priest  remained  with  them.  Upon  the  soft 
ground  at  his  feet  he  drew  ihe  plan  of  ratack, 
showed  them  how  they  must  march  down  the 
Creek  to  within  half  a  mile  of  its  mouth,  where 
the  banks  on  either  side  were  high  and  precipi- 
tous. There  among  the  dense  woods  they 
must  secrete  themselves  to  wait  the  anival  of 
the  solJiers  who  would  march  direct  up  the 
dark  road  to  the  Creek,  where  they  would  prob- 
ably rest  before  advancing  to  the  houses  of  the 
settlers. 

On  a  sheet  of  bark  he  drew  a  similar  plan, 
and  dispatched  a  runner,  fleet  of   foot,  to  the 


m  yDh. 


THE  STORY  OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


l8l 


encampment  up  the  valley,  with  orders  for  the 
Indians  at  that  place  to  lose  no  time  in  coming 
to  their  aid. 

When  he  had  fully  explained  to  them  the 
plan  of  attack,  he  told  them  he  must  leave, 
and  go  to  the  settlers  at  Port  Royal  to  incite 
them  to  join  in  the  fighting.  This,  the  Indians 
strongly  opposed.  They  felt  a  superhuman  aid 
in  the  presence  of  their  trusted  priest,  and 
only  consented  to  his  departure  on  condition 
of  his  returning  with  a  dozen  or  more  of  the 
Frenchmen  to  aid  in  the  battle.  This  condition 
the  Father  promised  to  fulfill,  and  it  was  not  far 
from  mid-day  when  he  started  away  from  the 
encampment. 

True  to  his  wrrd  the  stranger  was  back  to 
the  house  on  the  slope  as  early  as  sunset  rays 
tipped  the  columned  hills  across  the  river. 

No  one  seemed  to  be  about  the  place  and 
supposing  the  young  men  would  soon  arrive  he 
sat  down  upon  the  door-stone  to  rest.     He  had 


m 


.'!fl 


m 


iii. 


Ill:, 


'  ■  ■  t , 


jli'' 


1 


m 


l82 


THE   STORY   CF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


Ik 


i. 


itii 


waited  some  time  when  the  tall  woman  sud- 
denly came  down  the  path  from  the  hillside 
and  approached  him. 

For  several  minutes  she  did  not  answer  his 
inquiry  for  the  young  men,  but  stood  gazing 
steadily  at  him.     At  last  she  said  : 

"They  have  not  been  here  since  morning; 
they  are  in  the  dungeons  at  the  Fort,  they  were 
taken  as  they  started  out  to  raise  volunteers  to 
help  the  Indians." 

While  she  said  this,  the  woman  was  rational 
and  natural,  but  almost  immediately  the  strange 
apathy  and  calm  came  again  upon  her,  and  she 
turned  and  went  into  the  house. 

The  stranger  followed  her.  He  was  hungry, 
and  she  gave  him  food,  and  told  him  that  the 
young  men  believed  him  to  be  a  spy  from  the 
garrison,  that  the  people  generally  believed  the 
same,  and  would  kill  him  at  sight.  Then  she 
became  again  statue-like,  and  would  not  utter 
another  word,  but  gazed  out  upon  the  hillside 
whtre  the  grave  was  shadowed  by  gloomy  firs. 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


183 


"I  am  rested,"  said  the  man,  at  length,  "and 
I  am  going  up  the  river  again  to  the  Indians. 
I  promised  them  aid,  and  I  must  go  and  give 
what  help  my  two  arms  can  afford.  This  night 
must  be  a  bloody  blc^r  at  English  tyranny." 
And  the  strange  man  started  away  into  the 
dusky  woods. 

.  As  he  hurried  along  the  dim  pathway,  he 
heard  a  footstep  behind,  and  the  woman  came 
up  iisside  him.  Over  her  face  was  the  strange, 
passive  look,  and  in  her  hands  a  long  naked 
French  rapier. 

"  That  man  will  lead  the  soldiers,"  she  said, 
"  he  must  be  killed  ;  if  no  one  else  does  it  I 
must !  "  and  passed  on  ahead. 

The  man  grasped  her  shoulder  and  stopped 
her,  she  wrenched  herself  from  his  grasp  and 
pursued  her  course,  and  he  was  forced  to  quicken 
his  steps  to  keep  up  with  her  rapid  pace. 

At  the  garrison  all  arrangements  were  made, 
and  the  troops  ready  to  march. 


I 


m 


"  ? 


il 


1  ,       L 


'I 


11    ! 

■  1    t 

]L    1    ! 


184 


THE   STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


I;.  i.T 


fii  i  I 


ill' 


The  day  before  there  had  come  into  the  Fort 
a  stranger,  who  said  he  was  a  soldier  from  New 
England  and  claimed  to  have  been  with  Phipps 
in  his  capture  of  Port  Royal.  He  seemed  to 
know  the  country  round  about  Port  Royal  well, 
and  described  the  Creek  and  the  bridge  across 
it  and  the  lay  of  the  land  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  commander  had  him  map  out  a  line  of 
march  in  the  most  direct  route  and  at  his  own 
request  assigned  him  a  prominent  place  in  the 
expedition. 

But  when  the  soldiers  marched  out  of  the 
Fort  at  midnight,  this  strange  volunteer  was 
not  with  them.  His  line  of  march,  however, 
was  confidently  followed  by  the  commander 
as  he  led  his  troops  through  the  dense  forest, 
in  the  dim  starlight,  to  the  designated  place  of 
attack. 

Before  dawn  they  reached  the  brow  of  the 
hill  that  banked  the  west  side  of  the  Creek.  As 
they  crossed  the  brow  the  creeping  wind  of  day- 
dawn  stirred  the  still  night  air,  rustled  in  the 


;  if. 


i.  :     1 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CkEEK. 


•8s 


tree-tops,  soughed  in  the  firs,  lingered  in  the 
pines,  and  swayed  the  slim  underwood.  The 
soldiers  shuddered  —  it  is  a  saying,  that  they 
who  shudder  at  this  wind  will  never  live  to  hear 
another. 

Down  the  hill  they  marched,  to  the  bottom  of 
the  valley,  and  on  to  the  bridge  across  the 
Creek.  "  On  the  other  side  we  will  rest,"  said 
Captain  Pujeon,  as  he  led  the  way. 

Most  of  them  rested  before  the  other  brink 
was  gained.  For  without  warning  cry,  a  score 
of  savages  burst  from  the  thick  woods  and 
rushed  down  the  steep  incline  behind  them  ; 
another  score  came  down  the  eastern  bank 
and  on  to  the  bridge  ;  and  packed  in  that 
narrow  defile,  with  the  rushing  water  on  either 
hand,  and  beneath  them,  the  savage  butchery 
began. 

Cries  of  pain,  and  dying  groans,  mingled 
with  wild  war-whoops,  and  the  crimson  blood  of 
Old  England  and  New  flowed  into  the  clear 
waters  of  the  Creek. 


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THE   STORY    OF    BLOODY   CKKEK. 


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Leading  the  redskins,  regardless  of  flying 
bullets,  was  a  tall  man  in  the  garb  of  a  way- 
farer. Armed  with  a  long,  straight  blade,  and 
cool  in  the  midst  of  such  terrible  confusion, 
this  man  seemed  to  head  every  onslaught  upon 
the  entrapped  soldiers,  but  not  once  did  his 
glittering  French  rapier,  except  in  self-defense, 
draw  blood. 

Aloof  from  the  fight,  on  the  east  side  the 
Creek,  clad  in  priestly  robes  of  gray  serge, 
stood  a  tall  form,  waving  on  with  silent  hand 
the  death-dealing  savages,  who  obeyed  every 
sacerdotal  gesture  with  wild  yells  of  confidence. 

It  was  quick  and  bloody  work.  In  less  than 
twenty  minutes  most  of  the  Englishmen  were 
bleeding,  dead  or  dying,  for  the  murderous  toma- 
hawk left  no  wounded  victims.  Its  blow  was 
unerring;  and  deadly,  and  the  savages  took  no 
prisoners  except  such  as  seemed  to  promise  a 
ransom. 

The  Major  of  the  company,  a  young,  hand- 
some man,  had  been  taken  prisoner,  and  as  the 


THE  STORY  OF  BLOODY  CREEK. 


187 


Indians  were  binding  his  arms,  the  tall,  robed 
figure  cried  :    "  That  man  must  be  killed  !  " 

The  savage  captors  hesitated  ,  he  would  bring 
a  handsome  ransom.  Again  the  order  rang  out, 
clear  and  calm  : 

"That  man  must  be  killed ;  if  you  do  not  do 
it,  I  v/ill !  "  Still  no  hatchet  was  raised  to  exe- 
cute the  solemn  order. 

The  gray-robed  figure  hurried  forward,  seized 
from  the  belt  of  an  Indian  a  bloody  tomahawk, 
and  dashing  it  into  the  head  of  the  prisoner, 
fell  prostrate  on  the  ground,  as  if  dealt,  instead 
of  dealing,  a  blow. 

At  this  instant  the  tall  man  who  had  led  the 
Indians  came  up  to  the  group.  The  dying 
Major  cast  an  inquiring  glance  upon  him. 

"  It  is  the  New  England  soldier ! "  he  mut- 
tered, "he  led  us  into  this  cursed  trap  \  " 

The  tall  man  spoke  in  French  to  the  gray- 
gowned  figure  reverently  upheld  by  the  Indians. 

The  blood  came  to  the  pale  face,  and  the 
eyes  opened  and  gazed  around  as  if  in  search 


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THE  STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


1^ 


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of  some  object.  At  last  they  fell  upon  the  form 
of  the  dead  Major;  then  the  lips  parted,  and 
clear  and  calm  came  the  words  : 

"  Holy  Father,  he  is  dead,  I  killed  him  ! " 
And  flinging  back  the  gray  robe,  the  tall 
straight  form  of  the  insane  Frenchwoman 
stood  among  the  bewildered  savages. 

There  was  wild  excitement  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  strange  leader  took  the  garments 
from  the  ground  and  put  them  upon  himself, 
straightened  his  stooped  shoulders,  and  spoke 
to  them  by  name  and  in  their  native  speech, 
and  they  saw  that  it  was  Father  Justinian  him- 
self who  had  led  the  bloody  fight. 

It  was  soon  explained.  He  had  escaped  his 
captors  in  Boston,  and  dressed  in  disguise  as  a 
New  England  soldier,  had  easily  made  his  en- 
trance to  the  Fort  at  Port  Royal.  So  com- 
pletely did  he  deceive  the  garrison  that  they 
made  known  to  him  the  secret  expedition.  His 
quick  mind  prepared  a  plot,  and  in  pursuance 
of  this  he  drew  up  the  plan  which  would  carry 


i::i 


THE  STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK. 


189 


the  soldiers  to  the  only  place  on  the  march 
where  they  could  be  successfully  attacked. 

He  had  daringly  carried  his  sacred  habil- 
iments with  him,  in  a  bundle,  and  before  he  ar- 
rived at  the  Indian  encampment,  had  put  them 
on,  and  again  packed  them  when  visiting  the 
Acadians. 

As  the  woman  accompanied  him  on  the 
march  through  the  woods,  her  strong  resem- 
blance to  himself,  which  he  well  knew  before, 
suggested  the  idea  that  he  might  dress  her  in 
his  robes,  and  let  her  personate  him  in  the  fight, 
while  he  could  himself  lead,  in  place  of  the 
expected  and  promised  Frenchmen.  He  dis- 
closed his  identity,  and  she  acquiesced  to  the 
proposal  and  gave  him  her  sword.  In  the  heat 
of  the  attack  the  Indians  did  not  closely  scruti- 
nize, and  the  darkness  aided  the  ruse. 

The  news  of  the  massacre  spread  to  the  town. 
There  were  not  twenty  soldiers  left  in  the  Fort. 
In  the  consternation  at  the  terrible  tidings  the 


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THE   STORY   OF   BLOODY   CREEK. 


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imprisoned  Frenchmen  readily  escaped,  and 
they  and  their  countrymen  at  once  blockaded 
the  Fort.  Message  was  sent  to  Gaulin  to  come 
to  their  aid  with  his  warrior  Indians,  but  while 
they  waited  his  arrival  four  hundred  New  York 
troops  reinforced  the  garrison,  and  they  were 
compelled  to  abandon  the  investment  and  wait 
a  more  favorable  opportunity. 

Father  Justinian,  though  openly  charged  with 
the  instigation  of  the  attack,  managed  to  escape 
arrest  and  punishment,  and  for  many  years  re- 
mained in  the  Province,  encouraging  his  people 
to  disobedience  of  the  English  rule,  and  incit- 
ing the  Indians  to  frequent  depredations.  But 
never  afterward  in  the  history  of  the  country 
was  there  chronicled  so  deadly  and  daring  a 
massacre  as  that  at  Bloody  Creek. 

At  sight  of  the  grave  on  the  hillside,  the  wo- 
man's reason  again  left  he.-,  nor  was  she  ever 
afterward  rational,  or  sensible  of  the  event 
through  which  she  passed.  The  story  of  her 
personation  of  the  priest  became  known,  and 


^ 


THE   STORY   OF    BLOODY   CREEK.  191 

until  she  died  the  white-faced  wandering  woman 
was  everywhere  called  The  Friar  Marghette. 

Forty  rods  above  the  bridge  that  now  spans 
the  Creek,  the  stringers  and  abutments  of  that 
old  French  bridge  can  still  be  traced. 

The  east  bank  is  cleared  and  cultivated,  and 
on  either  side  and  above  and  below,  stretch 
green  fertile  meadows.  Up  from  the  meadows 
slope  the  wooded  ranges.  Only  in  the  name 
that  yet  clings  to  its  dashing  waters  is  there 
trace  of  that  bloody  fray. 


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THE  WILD   POSTMAN. 


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SEPTEMBER  5,  1775. 
That  day  the  sun  shone  on  the  breeze- 
ruffled  Basin  of  Minas  and  the  dwellers  along  its 
borders,  gladdening  the  hearts  of  as  contented 
and  prosperous  a  people  as  ever  lived  together. 
Up  from  the  wide-throated  chimneys  of  their 
hundred  houses  curled  the  blue  smoke  of  clean 
hardwood  fires,  and  healthy  happy  children  sur- 
rounded the  breakfast-steaming  hearthstones. 

Sea  and  land  were  the  free  heritage  of  these 
rural  French  Acadians.  Out  of  the  rivers  and 
ocean-filled  Basin  they  drew  the  finest  of  fish. 
From  the  fields  on  the  sunny  hillside  they  gath- 
ered apples  and  wild  fruit.  On  the  rich  grass 
of  the  salt  meadows  their  cattle  thrived,  and  no 

192 


THE  WILD   POSTMAN. 


193 


blight  fell  upon  their  abundant  harvests.  The 
friendly  wild  men  of  the  woods  brought  them  the 
choicest  of  venison,  and  looms  and  flax-wheels 
furnished  comely  apparel  for  old  and  young. 

On  this  fifth  day  of  September,  early  in  the 
morning,  a  barefoot  sturdy  boy,  about  twelve 
years  old,  strolled  along  a  path  through  the 
woods.  He  had  been  sent  by  his  father,  a  rich 
planter,  to  an  Indian  encampment  a  mile  or 
more  distant,  to  get  what  was  called  in  those 
days  a  potato  basket,  such  as  the  Indians  made 
for  the  farmers.  Like  most  boys,  he  loved  to 
roam  the  woods,  and  this  bright  autumn  morn- 
ing, careless  of  time,  he  lingered  along  the  path 
that  wound  among  the  trees  of  the  grand  old 
forests  that  then  covered  the  hills  of  Acadie ; 
and  it  was  late  in  the  forenoon  when  he  reached 
the  camps.  He  found  the  Indians  in  great 
alarm,  preparing  to  break  up  and  leave ;  and 
learned  from  them  that  British  soldiers  were 
marching  upon  the  French  villages,  and  would 
likely  kill  the  people. 


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194 


THE  WILD    POSTMAN. 


Afraid  to  return  alone,  and  lured  by  boyish 
love  of  adventure,  he  was  easily  persuaded  to 
go  with  the  Indians  to  a  place  of  safety  in  the 
wide  forests  to  the  South.  The  next  night  they 
saw  from  their  camp  on  the  mountain-side,  the 
fires  of  burning  buildings,  and  a  few  days  later 
they  learned  from  fugitives  to  the  woods  that 
the  houses  and  barns  were  burned,  and  the  men, 
women  and  children  had  been  taken  prisoners 
and  huddled  on  board  vessels  and  sent  to 
foreign  countries. 

There  was  now  no  alternative  left  the  boy  but 
to  remain  with  his  present  protectors.  Years 
passed  away,  and  no  tidings  of  his  parents 
reached  him.  He  grew  to  manhood,  large  and 
strong  like  the  great  trees  among  which  he 
lived. 

The  Indians  had  from  the  first,  for  some 
meaning  of  their  own,  called  the  boy  Jimcharles, 
and  by  this  name  alone  he  was  known  in  the 
Settlements,  where  he  spent  much  of  his  time 
and  learned  to  speak   the   English   language. 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


195 


At  the  Fort  he  often  staid  for  weeks  at  a  time, 
vying  with  the  soldiers  in  military  art,  and  soon 
gained  great  skill  in  the  use  of  his  gun  and 
other  arms. 

No  man  in  the  country  could  load  his  piece 
so  quickly  or  shoot  with  such  deadly  aim  as 
/imcharles.  From  the  soldiers  he  learned  also 
to  read  and  write  in  English.  His  native  speech 
he  retained,  and  thus  had  at  his  command 
three  languages.  This,  with  his  knowledge  of 
the  woods  and  well-known  intrepidity,  made 
him  a  valuable  guide  and  interpreter  to  the 
many  sportsmen  who  came  to  the  country  to 
hunt  in  the  great  forests.  At  the  age  of  thirty 
years  no  man  was  so  well-known  to  whites 
and  Indians  as  Jimcharles,  and  few  men  were 
more  fully  trusted  as  a  friend  or  dreaded  as  a 
foe.  Erratic  as  the  woods  he  roamed,  and  stern 
as  steel  to  every  purpose  his  name  was  an  "open 
sesame  "  to  any  door,  and  the  grand  houses  of 
the  rich,  the  humble  cot  of  the  poor,  and  the 
bough-thatched  wigwam  of  the  forest-dwellers 


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196 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


were  "open  house  "  to  Jimcharles  the  white  wild 
man. 

No  one  could  tell  like  he  adventures  with 
such  flavor  of  wild  reality.  Was  some  impor- 
tant message  to  be  sent  through  the  woods  to  a 
distant  Settlement,  Jimcharles  was  the  only  man 
who  could  be  depended  upon  to  get  it  through. 
Did  bears  harass  a  neighborhood  and  kill  the 
farmer's  cattle,  Jimcharles  was  notified,  and  soon 
the  pelts  of  the  thievish  brutes  were  stretched 
to  dry  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  barn.  Did  chil- 
dren stray  away  and  get  lost  in  the  great  forest, 
no  one  was  more  willing  to  search  or  so  likely 
to  find  as  Jimcharles.  Were  unfriendly  Indians 
making  dangerous  encroachments,  the  sight  of 
Jimcharles  was  always  sufficient  to  put  them  on 
their  best  behavior. 

In  the  summer  of  1775  the  Revolutionary  War 
of  the  colonies  broke  out.  Nova  Scotia  re- 
mained loyal  to  the  king  ;  and  the  British  Gov- 
ernment found  it  of  great  military  value  as 
headquarters  for  the  recruiting,  equipment  and 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


197 


transportation  of  soldiers,  and  the  building  and 
fitting  out  of  vessels. 

The  confiscated  farms  of  the  evicted  Acadi- 
ans  had,  some  time  before  this,  been  occupied 
with  British  subjects  invited  thither  by  a  free 
grant  of  the  land.  The  only  communication  by 
land  between  Halifax  and  these  now  prosperous 
settlements,  was  a  military  road  from  sea  to  sea, 
a  distance  of  about  fifty  miles  through  an  un- 
broken forest.  In  the  summer  of  1775  the 
British  Government  decided  to  have  a  weekly 
carriage  of  mail  matter  over  the  road  from  Hal- 
ifax to  Piziquid,  now  the  town  of  Windsor. 

The  distance  could  be  covered  only  on  horse- 
back or  upon  foot.  There  was  no  habitation  of 
white  man  on  the  road,  and  the  journey  was 
beset  with  dangers  from  storms  and  wild  beasts 
and  unfriendly  Indians.  Not  a  man  in  all 
the  country  was  equal  to  the  task  but  the  fear- 
less Jimcharles,  and  to  him  the  contract  was 
given.  Ten  years  he  traveled  this  road  once 
in  a  week.     Strapped  to  his  back  in   a  great 


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198 


THE  WILD   POSTMAN. 


leather-locked  knapsack  was  the  mail,  and  on  his 
shoulder  always  his  loaded  gun.  Tireless  as  a 
hound  and  faithful  to  his  trust,  he  pursued  his 
lonely  journey,  among  the  leaves  in  summer  and 
over  and  through  the  snow  in  winter.  Not  once 
in  all  that  time  did  he  fail  to  deliver  at  each  end 
of  his  route  the  weekly  mail.  Nor  was  a  single 
letter  or  parcel  ever  lost  or  missing,  after  once 
it  reached  his  hands.  Often  he  carried  large 
sums  of  money  for  merchants  and  traders,  and 
always  accounted  for  every  penny  on  call. 

Early  in  October,  1785,  there  came  to  that 
part  of  the  settlement  of  Minas  that  used  to  be 
the  French  Village,  an  old  man,  with  hair  well- 
streaked  in  gray,  but  stout  and  sturdy,  and 
dressed  like  a  farmer.  He  put  up  at  the  only 
inn  in  the  village,  and  paid  for  his  meals  and 
'odgings  as  he  took  them.  With  no  one  did  he 
seem  to  have  business  or  hold  conversation. 
His  time  was  spent  mostly  in  walking  about  the 
Settlement,  and  along  the  shore  of  the  Basin  and 
over  the  great  meadows. 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


199 


A  stranger  thus  conducting  naturally  aroused 
the  curiosity  and  suspicion  of  the  settlers,  and 
they  resolved  to  have  him  interviewed  by  the 
wary  Jimcharles  when  he  next  came  with  the 
mail.  But  the  very  day  the  Postman  was  to  ar- 
rive, the  old  man  was  suddenly  missed  from  the 
inn.  Since  supper  the  night  before  he  had  not 
been  seen.  During  the  early  part  of  the  fore- 
noon it  became  generally  known  that  some  time 
in  the  night  an  earthen  crock  containing  money 
had  been  dug  up  in  the  garden  of  one  of  the 
settlers.  The  crock,  and  a  gold  coin  found  near 
the  spot,  indicated  that  the  unearthed  treasure 
was  of  great  value. 

There  was  no  doubt  as  to  who  was  the  lucky 
finder ;  it  must  have  been  the  Stranger.  But 
where  had  he  gone,  was  the  general  inquiry. 
In  the  harbor  there  were  boats  and  fishing  ves- 
sels coming  and  going.  There  was  the  road, 
considerably  traveled,  leading  to  Port  Royal ; 
and  the  pathway  through  the  woods  to  Halifax. 
By  one  of  these  ways  the  old  man  had  very 


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200 


THE    WILD    POSTMAN. 


likely  left  the  village,  and  something  other  than 
idle  curiosity  prompted  inquiry  as  to  which. 

Late  in  the  forenoon,  three  well-known  In- 
dian scouts  of  dangerous  character,  started  in 
search  of  him,  on  the  road  to  Halifax.  They 
struck  his  trail,  and  before  night  overtook  him. 
They  were  large  men,  armed  and  savage,  and 
there  was  no  use  in  resistance.  They  stripped 
the  traveler  of  his  clothing,  and  robbed  him  of  his 
money  which  was  all  in  gold.  Then  they  divided 
the  gold  equally,  and  tying  their  victim  to  a 
tree,  held  a  council  to  decide  his  fate. 

At  last  the  largest  and  most  excited  of  the 
three  savages  rose  from  the  ground,  seized  his 
tomahawk  and  walked  toward  the  naked  trav- 
eler tied  to  the  tree.  A  wail  of  despair  from 
the  tortured  man  rang  through  the  woods  as  the 
Indian  raised  the  murderous  weapon  to  strike 
him  to  death.  The  same  instant  came  the  sharp 
report  of  a  gun,  and  the  Indian  threw  his  toma- 
hawk in  the  air  and  with  a  savage  yell  of  pain 
fell  dead  to  the  ground. 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


201 


In  the  direction  of  the  report  stood  Jimcharles, 
deliberately  reloading  his  gun.  In  a  few  min- 
utes he  had  disarmed  the  other  savages,  and 
cut  the  terrified  old  man  loose  from  the  tree. 
The  Indians  knew  with  whom  they  had  to  deal, 
and  offered  no  resistance. 

The  bold  Postman  gathered  up  the  traveler's 
clothes  and  assisted  him  to  dress ;  then  asked 
him  in  which  direction  he  was  traveling,  and 
learning  it  was  toward  Halifax,  at  once  started 
back  with  him  toward  the  city,  carrying  the 
bows  and  arrows  of  the  three  savages,  and  leav- 
ing the  two  living  ones  disarmed  with  their  dead 
companion. 

The  old  man  did  not  dare  to  tell  his  rescuer 
of  the  gold  the  Indians  had  taken  from  him, 
lest  it  might  be  cause  for  killing  on  his  part. 

Night  came  on,  but  the  Postman  feared  to 
camp  lest  the  savages  should  be  re-enforced  and 
follow  him  to  revenge  the  death  of  their  brave. 
Near  morning,  however,  they  came  to  a  clearing 
in  the  woods,  about  five  miles  from  Halifax ; 


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202 


THE  WILD   POSTMAN. 


the  old  man  was  very  tired,  '^rd  here  his  rescuer 
made  for  him  a  bed  of  fir-boughs  and  bade  him 
lie  down  and  rest.  This  he  gladly  did,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  slept  as  only  a  tired  healthy  man 
can  sleep.  His  only  covering  was  the  far  blue 
sky,  and  the  only  light  was  from  the  still  farther 
away  myriad  stars.  This  light  fell  full  on  his 
tanned,  time-furrowed  face,  as  he  lay  upon  the 
fragrant  fir-tips. 

On  a  "  cradle-hill "  near  by,  with  gun  across 
his  knees,  sat  the  intrepid  Jimcharles,  ready  to 
bring  to  the  ground  the  first  savage  who  might 
emerge  from  the  woods.  Often  he  looked  in- 
quiringly into  the  upturned  face  of  the  sleeper, 
and  as  the  slumber  grew  deep  there  seemed  in 
the  soft  uncertain  starlight  to  come  over  it  a 
shadowy  face,  dim  as  an  almost  forgotten  dream. 
As  he  gazed  upon  it  long,  line  after  line  became 
distinct,  and  the  features  of  a  face  that  was  one 
of  the  recollections  of  his  boyhood,  was  now  the 
face  of  the  sleeping  stranger. 


That 

face 

was 

his 

father's  — 

•  smooth, 

and 

! 

1 

If 


THE    WILD    POSTMAN. 


203 


ruddy,  and  pleasant  as  memory  had  kept  it 
through  the  effacing  mist  of  years.  Slowly  he 
recalled  the  scenes  of  his  child  life,  so  many 
years  ago,  and  the  phantom  face  became  real, 
and  he  was  about  to  speak  to  it,  when  the  whir 
of  wings  above  his  head  startled  him.  He 
looked  up,  and  saw  a  bird  flying  rapidly  toward 
the  east.  At  the  same  time  he  saw  that  day- 
dawn  had  dimmed  the  stars.  It  took  but  an 
instai  tto  do  this,  and  turn  pgain  to  the  face  his 
eyes  had  just  left.  The  light  of  dawn  was  on 
it,  and  he  saw  only  the  hard  time-worn  features 
of  the  man  he  had  saved  from  the  tomahawk, 
sleeping  soundly,  with  the  dew  upon  his  iron- 
gray  hair.  Had  he  dozed,  and  dreamed  ?  There 
seemed  no  other  satisfactory  explanation,  and 
he  reluctantly  accepted  the  too  practical  sugges- 
tion of  his  healthy  brain. 

Ashamed  of  his  weakness  he  arose,  and  awak- 
ened the  old  man  ;  gave  him  a  slice  of  bread 
and  cold  meat,  and  without  waiting  for  him  to 
eat  it,  started  again  on  his  journey;  there  were 


"I 


h 


;-! 


i 

ti 


m 


0 


III 

.  'Hi I 


1 


:  I 


.1. 


h 


.i 


W"-J" 


i'04 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


five  miles  yet  to  travel.  The  Postman  led  in 
silence  till  they  came  in  sight  of  the  town,  then 
he  turned  his  face  scrutinizingly  upon  his  com- 
panion and  asked  his  name. 

"John  White,"  was  the  sharp  reply. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  by  either  till 
they  entered  the  tavern.  There  Jimcharles  or- 
dered breakfast  and  rum.  After  eating,  and 
drinking,  the  Postman  lighted  his  pipe  for  a 
quiet  smoke  before  starting  back  on  his  now 
doubly  perilous  mail-route  to  the  Settlement. 

While  thus  engaged  some  man  present  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  him  in  French. 
Either  this  or  the  rum  made  the  old  man  con- 
fidential, and  he  spoke  to  the  Postman  in  French, 
telling  him  that  his  home  was  once  in  Minas, 
that  he  was  taken  prisoner  with  the  rest  of  his 
countrymen  and  carried  away  to  strange  lands 
where  he  had  since  lived,  and  had  now  after 
thirty  years  been  back  to  see  his  native  hamlet, 
and  that  his  French  name  was  Jean  Le  Blanc, 
which  was  the  same  as  John  White. 


THE    WILD    I'OSTMAN. 


20! 


The  Postman  had  paid  silent  attention  up  to 
this  point ;  now  he  took  the  arm  of  the  old  man 
and  led  him  into  a  private  room. 

"  Had  you  a  boy  named  Charles  ?  "  he  eagerly 
asked.  "  Yes,"  answered  the  man,  "  but  he  was 
lost  or  killed  that  day  the  British  soldiers  took 
u?  prisoners." 

"  I  am  that  boy,"  said  the  great  sinewy  man 
before  him.  "  I  was  lost  to  you,  and  you  to  me, 
but  we  are  both  found  now  —  father !  " 

The  last  word  broke  the  old  man's  firmness, 
and  tears  rolled  over  his  weather-beaten  face. 
But  neither  man  was  emotional,  and  the  ex- 
change cf  homely  greetings  was  soon  over. 
Then  the  father  told  his  son  about  getting  the 
gold  he  had  buried  at  the  time  of  the  expulsion, 
and  its  robbery  by  the  Indians.  How  easily  it 
could  have  been  recovered  the  day  before  when 
it  was  on  the  persons  of  the  dead  and  subdued 
savages,  had  the  old  man  only  told  his  rescuer  j 
but  no  word  of  upbraiding  was  said. 

It  was   a   large   sum  of   money,  and    to  get 


4 

m 


■HI 


il 


m 


m 

i^s 

I'i 

,  1 

1 

iii' 

pi 

■ 

fi 

! 

J 

1"  :■    ;; 

.  1 

\i 


'  •} 


m ' 

if    i  \ 

■     i            •■                         1 

Mill; 


i    i  ■          ' 

1  !f     '::i 

1 

i 

1  1 

;'j      1 

5  'i;|  !  ■  i;' 

ij 

■  1 

I 

1     '! 
1 

^t  '  'li' 

ii 

206 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


it  back  from  the  wild  robbers  was  indeed  a 
problem  for  the  cunning  of  the  brave  forest 
rover.  He  knew  too  well  the  character  of  the 
Indians  to  undertake  by  force  to  despoil  them. 
Before  another  day  the  whole  tribe  would  know 
that  Jimcharles  had  shot  and  killed  a  Micmac 
brave,  and  that  is  all  they  would  know  of  the 
affair.  The  fact  of  the  gold  and  robbery  would 
not  be  told,  nor  would  the  robbers  likely  part 
with  any  of  the  gold  soon. 

Whatever  was  to  be  done  he  must  first  have 
rest  and  sleep.  So  engaging  a  room  and  bc^d 
for  the  old  man,  he  went  to  the  governor  and 
threw  up  his  contract  to  carry  the  mail,  then 
returned  to  his  quarters  and  slept. 

By  daylight  Jimcharles  had  laid  his  plans  to 
get  from  the  Indians  his  father's  hard-earned 
money. 

To  despoil  them  at  the  burial-ground  was  the 
only  feasible  scheme.  The  third  day  at  sunset 
they  would  bury  the  dead  brave.  The  two  rob- 
bers were  the  only  witnesses  of  his  death,  and 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


207 


they  must  for  that  reason  be  at  his  burial.  The 
chief  of  his  tribe,  and  the  medicine-man  must  be 
there  also,  to  assist  in  the  sacred  rites.  Others 
there  might  be,  but  the  place  of  burial  was  far 
from  any  encampment,  and  it  was  seldom  an 
Indian  went  to  a  funeral  when  it  was  not  his 
duty  so  to  do. 

Within  the  limits  of  the  burial-ground  an  In- 
dian would  not  take  his  gun,  or  bows  and  arrows, 
or  kill  anything.  All  this  his  life  among  the 
Indians  had  taught  him.  But  even  should  he 
succeed  in  getting  the  gold  from  the  Indians 
in  their  disarmed  condition  in  the  graveyard, 
there  seemed  a  difficulty,  once  outside  the  sa- 
cred limits,  to  save  himself  from  the  savage 


avengers. 


There  was  but  one  effectual  weapon  to  use, 
and  that  was  the  red  man's  most  fatal  slayer  — 
the  white  man's  "  fire-water."  With  this  he 
hoped  to  overpower  the  Indians  and  get  safely 
away  with  the  money.  It  was  hazardous,  but 
he  was  brave  and  strong. 


li 


•  lit 


m 
it 


lib 


;'! 


'I 


■Vh 


M 


V1  l! 


208 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


si;  ■ 
li.i 


'J:.'!?      "'I 


INii 


^ii;i 


Pursuing  this  plan  he  stowed  in  his  knapsack 
four  bottles  of  the  newest  and  strongest  rum  to 
be  had,  and  late  in  the  afternoon,  with  his  gun, 
and  the  bow  and  arrows  of  the  dead  Indian  on 
his  shoulders,  he  started  out  on  the  most  peril- 
ous undertaking  of  his  life.  The  distance  to  be 
traveled  was  thirty-five  miles.  Taking  an  un- 
traveled  trail,  and  timing  himself,  he  reached 
just  before  sundown  the  great  hill  where  the 
red  men  of  that  part  of  Acadia  had  been  for 
ages  laid  away  to  rest. 

Cautiously  approaching  he  saw  the  funeral  at- 
tendants. There  were  the  four  he  had  counted 
upon,  and  a  great  fierce  brave  brother  of  the 
dead  man.  Keeping  concealed  he  saw  that  a 
shallow  grave  had  been  dug,  and  they  waited  for 
the  sunset  hour.  It  came,  and  the  dead  warrior 
was  placed  in  the  earth,  and  with  him  his  pipe 
and  tobacco.  Then  there  was  a  sad  pause  :  the 
bow  and  arrows  of  the  brave  should  be  placed 
beside  him,  but  they  could  not  be  had. 

Anticipating  this,  Jimcharles  stepped  inside 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


209 


the  limits,  and  with  the  unstrung  bow  of  the 
dead  man  in  one  hand  and  the  quiver  of  arrows 
in  the  other,  he  walked  deliberately  to  the  grave, 
placed  them  beside  the  dead  brave,  and  sat 
down  upon  the  ground  with  the  others. 

Dark  scowls  was  all  the  greeting  he  received. 
He  did  not  expect  more,  although  he  knew  the 
act  he  had  performed  was  the  only  possible  ex- 
piation of.  the  crime  he  had  committed. 

The  simple  symbolical  rites  of  burial  were 
soon  completed,  the  grave  filled  in,  and  the 
customary  mound  of  great  stones  closely  packed 
over  it.  Then  the  chief  lighted  his  pipe, 
smoked  a  little,  and  handed  it  to  the  white 
man.  It  was  an  offer  of  peace,  and  he  gladly 
accepted  it,  smoked  and  returned  the  pipe  to 
the  chief,  who  handed  it  to  the  medicine-man. 
He  smoked  and  passed  it  to  one  of  the  robbers, 
who  refused  to  smoke,  as  did  the  two  others. 
This  refusal  was  a  declaration  of  war  to  the 
death,  and  only  the  sacredness  of  the  place 
restrained  them  from  deadly  encounter. 


■iy. 


> 


m 


m 


':m 


4  >S 


i-;ia 


2IO 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


1  ■ 


u-^' 

1  ; 

'1-   ^ 

:          t  ■ 

1  i 


mmi 


Now  came  the  white  man's  turn  to  try  for 
peace.  Taking  from  his  knapsack  one  of  the 
black  bottles,  he  drew  the  cork,  tasted,  and 
handed  it  to  the  chief.  The  old  man  tasted, 
smacked  his  lips  in  approbation  of  the  quality, 
then  took  a  hearty  drink  and  passed  the  bottle 
to  the  medicine-man.  He  drank,  and  passed 
to  his  next  companion,  who  hesitated  an  in- 
stant, then  took  a  long  drink,  as  did  the  other 
robber.  But  when  the  bottle  was  handed  to 
the  brother  of  the  dead  man,  he  dashed  it  to 
pieces  on  a  rock,  and  scowled  defiance  at  the 
owner. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken.  The  red  man's  thirst 
for  fire-water  was  now  aroused,  and  his  white 
assailer  produced  another  bottle  and  sent  it  on 
its  round.  When  it  reached  the  last  Indian  it 
was  empty,  but  he  dashed  it  to  pieces  as  he  had 
the  other.  It  was  now  only  a  question  of  quan- 
tity. The  knapsack  held  two  more  bottles,  and 
one  of  them  was  quickly  in  the  hands  of  the 
chief  who  was   already  beginning  to  feel   the 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


211 


effects  of  the  fiery  quality  of  the  liquor.  It  was 
drained,  and  shared  at  the  hands  of  the  last 
savage  the  fate  of  the  other  two. 

The  cool  white  man  now  brought  out  the  re- 
maining bottle,  but  there  was  no  use  for  it.  The 
savages  had  already  quaffed  too  deeply  and  were 
tumbling  over,  senseless,  on  the  ground.  The 
old  chief  was  the  last  to  succumb.  The  big 
brother  of  the  dead  man  now  rose  to  his  feet. 
This  was  Jimcharles  only  chance  for  life,  and  he 
acted  promptly.  Soon  as  the  Indian  took  the 
first  step  toward  the  place  where  he  had  left  his 
gun,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grappled  the  great 
warrior.  The  struggle  was  a  fierce  one ;  both 
men  were  strong,  and  about  equally  matched. 
One  was  urged  on  by  hate  and  thirst  for  venge- 
ance, and  the  other  struggling  for  his  life. 

Finding  that  he  could  not  by  strength  and 
skill  in  wrestling,  gain  an  inch  of  vantage,  the 
white  man  suddenly  released  himself  from  the 
clutch  of  his  powerful  antagonist,  and  taking  a 
step  backward  dealt  him  a  tremendous  blow  in 


\ 


'  L 


1' 


'■ill 

J 

iH 

i 


m 


[,j. 


i 

ill 

m 

i    ii 

1! 

'^1 

1% 

i 

?  r 

i      j 

^il 

i   1 

]-i< 

!       1 

,       i 

i 

'      1 

Pii 


'a  ■ .;' ;    mi 


in 


I        ! 


t'  ■ .  I 


It.  I 


:un- 


iiii ' 


i'ii 


m 


ill 


212 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


the  forehead,  with  his  bony  fist,  and  the  great 
savage  fell  to  the  ground,  senseless  as  if  struck 
with  a  sledge-hammer. 

It  was  now  but  the  work  of  a  minute  to  bind 
his  hands  and  feet  with  strong  thongs.  This 
done,  a  few  minutes  more  sufficed  to  find  and 
get  possession  of  the  gold  on  the  clothes  of  the 
drunken  robbers.  Jimcharles  was  now  master 
of  himself  and  the  situation.  He  placed  the  re- 
maining bottle  of  rum  where  it  could  be  easily 
reached  by  the  first  Indian  who  should  revive 
from  the  drunken  stupor ;  then  going  to  where 
they  had  left  their  arms,  he  cut  and  took  away 
the  bow-strings,  and  removed  the  flint  from 
each  gun,  and  shouldering  his  own,  started  on 
the  long  return  tramp  through  the  forest  to 
Halifax. 

All  night  without  halt  he  walked,  guided  by 
the  stars,  and  his  knowledge  of  hills  and  valleys. 
Near  noon  the  next  day  he  reached  Halifax,  and 
went  at  once  to  the  Soldiers'  Barracks.  Here 
he  was  safe  from  any  lurking  Indian  who  might 


THE    WILD    POSTMAN. 


213 


be  anxious  to  avenge  the  death  of  the  buried 
brave,  and  the  desecration  of  his  burial-place. 

There  was  in  the  harbor  a  vessel  bound  for 
Boston,  and  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  he  went 
on  board  and  in  the  morning  had  the  old  man 
join  him.  The  next  day  the  vessel  sailed,  and 
Jimcharles  never  more  roamed  the  forests  of 
Acadia,  but  his  name  has  ever  since  been  borne 
by  one  or  more  of  the  Micmac  dwellers  therein. 

From  Boston  he  made  his  way  to  Louisiana, 
where  for  the  last  thirty  years  had  been  the  home 
of  his  father.  There  he  lived  till  the  old  man's 
death,  a  short  time  after.  Jimcharles  was  sole 
heir  to  his  father's  property,  but  money  had  no 
charm  for  the  wild  woodsman.  He  had  no  use 
for  it  and  did  not  care  to  make  one.  In  a  short 
time  he  went  up  the  Missouri  River  to  a  small 
settlement  of  French  Acadians,  near  where  is 
now  the  city  of  Madison.  Here  he  laid  out  all 
his  money  in  wild  lands,  and  then  wandered 
away  into  the  old  timber  woods  about  the  great 
lakes,  where  for  many  years  after  he  was  known 


m 

1:! 


n 


"1 


'T 


J 

V I 


p — ^ 


m 


i 


u 


li    I 


:!l!il 


mil 


214 


THE   WILD   POSTMAN. 


as  the  Acadian  hunter  and  famous  for  his  great 
strength  and  daring  deeds.  At  last  he  was  seen 
no  more  in  the  settlements  or  the  forests  about 
them.  No  tidings  of  his  death  came  to  any  one. 
Nor  did  sign  of  his  living  meet  the  eye  of  settler 
or  forest  ranger. 

Years  of  time  greatly  increased  the  value  of 
the  land  he  had  bought,  and  men  wished  to 
purchase  it,  but  no  title  could  be  given.  If  the 
owner  was  living  no  one  knew  where  to  find  him, 
and  if  he  was  dead  his  heirs  were  unknown.  So 
the  valuable  unimproved  land  still  stood  upon 
the  records  and  in  the  speech  of  men  as  be- 
longing to  Jimcharles 

In  the  summer  of  18 16,  there  died  in  the  city 
of  Philadelphia  a  man  named  Charles  Le  Blanc. 
Little  was  known  of  the  man  in  the  place  where 
he  died,  beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  a  French 
Acadian  who  owned  landed  property  of  great 
value,  and  left  no  near  relatives,  nor  had  he 
made  a  will. 

About  a  year  after  his  death,  descendants  of 


m 


!;| 

i 

1 

,"  1. 

\- 

Ml,  ■ 

(■v 

1 

ffi' 

1 

1 

! 

1 
i 

J 

THE   WILD    POSTMAN. 


2t5 


one  Pierre  Le  Blanc  commenced  suit  in  the 
United  States  Circuit  Court,  to  establish  their 
title  as  heirs  of  Charles  Le  Blanc.  During  the 
twelve  years  this  suit  was  in  the  court,  evidence 
was  collected  from  nearly  all  over  the  continent, 
and  the  result  was  most  singular.  From  the  tes- 
timony of  many  very  old  French  Acadians,  it 
appeared  that  Pierre  Le  Blanc  was  a  paternal 
uncle  of  Charles  Le  Blanc  ;  that  he  had  ten 
children,  who  were  the  only  next  of  kin  of 
Charles  Le  Blanc  at  the  time  of  his  death.  It 
also  appeared  that  there  was  another  Pierre  Le 
Blanc  who  was  a  paternal  uncle  of  Charles  Le 
Blanc,  and  who  had  ten  children,  only  next  of 
kin  of  Charles  Le  Blanc.  It  further  appeared 
that  six  out  of  the  ten  children  of  each  family 
had  the  same  christian  name  ;  that  each  Pierre 
Le  Blanc  was  a  French  Acadian,  and  the  father 
of  each  was  named  Jean  Le  Blanc.  The  claim- 
ants through  each  Pierre  Le  Blanc  sought  to 
get  the  same  property. 

Were  there  two  Charles  Le  Blancs?     If  yes, 


r.  ' , 


!  f 

li  ii 

1 


In 


i! 


,  ■      ! 


2l6 


THE  WILD   POSTMAN. 


then  which  one  owned  the  property  ?  If  there 
was  but  one,  which  of  the  Pierre  Le  Blancs  was 
his  uncle  ?  And  who  of  the  descendants  of 
Pierre  Le  Blanc  were  the  rightful  claimants  ? 
So  the  paradoxical  inquiry  continued.  And  the 
inheritance  remains  undisturbed. 


1 
i 

'a^  \. 

11; 

;ii 

1 

Is  it  possible  that  this  historic  tradition  of 
Jimcharles  may  furnish  a  clew  to  the  legal  tangle 
of  more  than  half  a  century  ?  Will  it  turn  out 
at  last  that  the  dualistic  Charles  Le  Blanc,  so 
difficult  of  identification,  was  none  other  than 
the  Wild  Postman  of  Acadia? 


'  'il  III 

ii:";  I 


Pi 


IX. 


THE  SCARLET  SPECTER   OF   SANDY  RIDGE. 

THIRTY  miles  up  the  beautiful  valley  lying 
between  the  northern  and  southern  range 
of  mountains,  there  is  a  curious,  cumulose  drift 
of  gray  siliceous  soil,  in  a  series  of  mounds  or 
dunes.  These  dunes  are  parallel  with  interven- 
ing level  wastes  of  fine  white  sand  partly  grown 
over  with  a  brown  heath-like  gorse ;  their  sum- 
mits are  clothed  with  dark  foliaged  yellow  pines, 
and  a  stunted  undergrowth  of  hardwood.  For 
nearly  two  miles,  in  an  easterly  direction,  this 
succession  of  sand  hills  stretches,  sloping  grad- 
ually to  a  level  verdured  plain,  which  in  turn 
merges  into  an  extensive  bog,  whose  barren  peaty 
surface  is  bordered  by  the  same  forest  trees  that 
shadow  the  Sandy  Ridge. 

217 


■  .  Ji 

i1 

If 

1 

r 

II 

i|i 

II 

ji 

'n 


\i' 


1I 


\'-H 


•rm 


'ip 

;J!'   !■ 
'i 

j|i 

;■  i . 

•If 

■;i,    .. 

^1     1 


VM 


IN 


218      THE   SCARLET  SPECTER  OF    SANDY   RIDGE. 

On  a  southern  slope  of  one  of  these  ridges 
are  innumerable  holes  digged  into  the  bank ; 
some  many  feet,  others  but  a  short  distance, 
and  many  partly  filled  with  the  shifting  sand, 
in  which  the  furze  has  again  rooted  and  grown 
as  abundant  as  before. 

Old  men  say  this  slope  is  the  site  of  a  French 
burying  ground,  and  that  the  holes  are  the  work 
of  adventurers  who  digged  in  the  gray  hillside 
for  the  golden  coins  supposed  to  have  been 
hidden  with  the  buried  people.  They  also  say 
that  a  woman  in  a  scarlet  coat  haunts  the  place, 
appearing  and  disappearing,  mysteriously  as  the 
weird  wind  of  the  pine  tops. 


%m 


m 
111 


The  fifteenth  of  October,  1746,  a  storm-tossed, 
dismantled  French  transport  sailed  into  the  spa- 
cious harbor  of  Chebucto,  now  Halifax,  and  came 
to  anchor  in  the  broad  and  beautiful  sheet  of 
water  now  called  Bedford  Basin. 

On  board  the  transport  were  one  hundred 
and  forty  men.     Six  thousand  men  and  fifty-two 


III  ''I 

Utiiiiu 


THE   SCARLET   SPECTER    OF    SANDY    RIDGE.       219 


•  li 


■Hi 


ships  accompanied  her  when  she  sailed  from 
Rochelle  on  the  fourth  of  June.  It  was  a  mighty 
fleet,  and  freighted  with  high  hopes  of  France. 
Louisburg,  so  lately  captured  by  the  English,  was 
to  be  retaken.  Port  Royal  was  to  be  stormed, 
and  the  long  disputed  colonies  pass  again  under 
French  rule. 

But  multiplied  disasters  overtook  the  vast 
armament.  Before  the  coast  of  France  was 
cleared  two  ships  of  the  line  were  burned.  A 
week  later  two  were  seized  by  English  cruisers. 
La«-er,  a  scorbutic  fever  broke  out.  And  near 
Sable  Island  they  were  overtaken  by  a  terrible 
storm,  and  the  whole  squadron  scattered  and  dis- 
persed over  the  tempest-tossed  and  unfamiliar 
North  Atlantic  Ocean. 

When  the  terrible  storm  abated,  and  the  be- 
wildering fogs  cleared,  the  men  on  this  transport 
looked  eagerly  about  them  for  the  accompany- 
ing ships.  They  saw  them  not.  The  treacherous 
sands  and  entangling  shallows  that  reach  out 
trom   that   crescent   "  ocean    graveyard "    had 


Pi 
kill 


M 


ii 


Mil 


r 

Hi 


if ;' 


li  I    : 


It,  f 


rn 


m^ 


!      ! 


ni!i 


i'ii 


220      THE    SCARLET    SPECTER    OF    SANDY    RIDGE. 

washed  into  the  surging,  roaring  depths  beyond, 
more  than  twenty  of  the  stanch  and  human- 
freighted  ships. 

Urged  thither  by  favoring  winds,  the  trans- 
port, in  a  disabled  condition,  made  this  safe  and 
spacious  harbor  of  Chebucto. 

A  league  or  more  up  the  shore,  on  a  wooded 
point  that  made  out  into  the  blue  waters  of 
the  Basin,  lived  a  few  French  families.  When 
the  troops  from  the  transport  landed  and  were 
camped,  these  people  came  down  the  shore  to 
greet  them.  From  them  the  men  learned  the 
fate  of  the  great  fleet. 

Twenty  sail  only  had  reached  the  harbor.  A 
thousand  of  the  men  on  these  twenty  ships  were 
buried  on  the  shore  of  the  Basin ;  and  but  two 
days  before  the  transport  arrived,  the  remnant 
of  the  squadron  had  set  sail  from  Port  Royal. 
When  the  commander  of  the  transport  heard 
this  he  was  eager  to  join  the  fleet,  and  at  once 
ordered  his  men  aboard.  But  panic-struck  and 
already  stricken  with  symptoms  of  the  dreaded 


THE  SCARLET  SPECTER  OF  SANDY  RIDGE.   221 


m 


rd 
ce 
id 
:d 


fever,  they  refused  to  set  foot  again  on  the 
plague-cursed  ship.  There  was  hot  dispute,  but 
the  men  prevailed,  and  with  only  a  crew  aboard, 
the  transport  set  sail  to  overtake  the  other  ves- 
sels, the  soldiers  promising  to  march  overland 
through  the  forest  and  join  their  commander  at 
Port  Royal. 

Two  old  men  offered  to  guide  them  on  the 
first  day's  journey,  and  assured  them  that  with 
directions  and  proper  attention  to  the  stars  and 
the  sun,  they  could  easily  make  their  way  to 
Minas.  There  they  could  readily  procure  guides 
for  the  remainder  of  the  journey,  which  was  but 
a  three  days'  march  from  the  head  of  the  Basin. 
Ready  to  go  anywhere,  out  of  sight  of  those 
thousand  graves  of  their  fellow  seamen,  the 
men  were  e^^er  to  undertake  the  march,  and 
confident  that  they  could  find  their  way  through 
the  wilderness. 

When  they  were  about  to  start,  an  old  woman 
dressed  in  a  red  coat  and  cap,  attracted  their 
attention. 


An 


it 


■    ■    ;.  I    i 


m 


3!  ■: 


Ki:'."  ■  ! 


i! 

m 

if;   I 


1,1  ^  '■'; 


i'', 


i; 


ill) 


M: 


222       THE   SCARLET    SPECTER    OF    SANDY    RIDGE. 

"  It  is  old  Mag,"  said  the  guides.  "  She 
brought  us  news  from  Cobequid  to-day.  Five 
years  ago  her  boy  was  lost,  and  ever  since  she 
has  been  searching  for  him.  Some  of  the  sol- 
diers at  Port  Royal  gave  her  the  coat  and  cap, 
and  she  wears  them  so  the  British  will  not  kill 
her,  she  says.  From  Bay  to  Basin  she  tr  ips, 
and  always  alone.  She  has  her  own  paths 
through  the  woods;  no  one  else  knows  them, 
no  one  ever  meets  her,  but  she  is  never  lost." 

When  the  soldiers  first  approached  the  settlers, 
the  woman  had  glanced  sharply  at  them,  but 
they  did  not  notice  her  and  she  paid  no  further 
heed  to  them.  Now,  however,  when  they  started 
to  march,  she  came  toward  them. 

She  was  small,  and  slight  of  form.  Her  close- 
cut  hair  was  gray,  and  on  her  head  she  wore 
only  the  little  military  cap.  The  big  red  coat 
hung  loose  around  her  narrow  shoulders  and 
reached  far  down  over  the  blue  woollen  skirt  of 
her  dress.  Her  face  was  sharp,  and  the  small 
eyes  eager  and  keen. 


I,! 


of 
iall 


THE   SCARLET   SPECTER  OF    SANDY    RIDGE.      223 

She  walked  up  very  near  the  men,  and  without 
speaking,  looked  sharply  into  each  bronzed  face. 
When  she  came  beside  the  commander  who  was 
a  young  man,  he  said  :   *'  Good  day,  mother." 

She  started,  and  the  small  eyes  glanced  pierc- 
ingly into  his,  but  she  made  no  answer,  nor 
seemed  to  heed  the  laughter  of  the  men,  as  with 
a  chorus  of  "good-bys"  they  started  on  their 
march  and  entered  into  the  dense  forest  that 
bordered  the  silvery  Basin. 

The  cool  depths  of  the  great  woods  invigo- 
rated the  men,  and  they  marched  the  whole  day, 
resting  only  at  noon  for  dinner. 

"Where  is  old  Mag.^"  someone  asked  of  the 
guides.  "We  thought  we  saw  her  red  coat 
through  the  trees  a  while  ago."  But  the  guides 
shook  their  heads. 

"She  is  safe  with  the  women,"  they  said. 
"  She  stays  always  a  week  or  more  with  us.  If 
she  were  here  she  could  lead  you  to  Minas, 
if  she  liked.  She  knows  the  way;  it  is  her 
home." 


■i  1 


■<!  < 


fft 


li 


'.III 


224      THE  SCARLET  SPECTER   OF   SANDY    RIDGE. 


When  they  rested  at  night,  another  of  the  men 
protested  he  had  seen  her  red  coat  during  the 
afternoon. 

"  It  was  old  Mag,  or  a  British  soldier,"  said 
the  man. 

"  It  was  the  red  leaves  of  the  maples,"  said 
the  guides.  "  Though  it  might  be  she  would 
follow  you,  for  she  says  the  captain  here  is  her 
long-lost  son." 

The  men  laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  crazy 
woman,  and  laid  themselves  down  to  sleep. 

Next  morning,  their  guides  left  them.  When 
they  rested  at  sunset  that  night,  hope  was  not 
high  in  their  hearts.  Fever  symptoms  had 
again  come  upon  them,  and  a  few  of  their  num- 
ber were  already  sick  with  the  dread  disease. 
The  simple  remedies  carried  with  them  were 
given,  and  the  next  day's  march  was  only  as 
far  as  the  sick  men  could  go. 

"  We  will  reach  Minas  by  noon  of  another 
day,"  they  said  as  they  started  again  on  the 
third  morning.     The  sick  men  made  no  answer; 


•  m 


THE   SCARLET   SPECTER   OF    SANDY    RIDGE.      225 


'■)■ 


in   their  thoughts   were  the   thousand   graves 
around  that  silvery  Basin. 

When  the  morning  of  the  next  day  dawned 
and  the  march  was  resumed,  a  cold  rain  came 
on,  and  by  night  of  another  day  they  found  that 
they  had  gone  out  of  their  course,  and  had  passed 
the  French  settlements.  Where  they  now  were 
they  could  not  tell,  but  they  found  themselves  in 
the  valley,  with  the  mountains  on  either  side  of 
them,  and  knew  they  were  in  a  part  of  the  coun- 
try not  described  by  their  guides  on  the  route 
to  Minas. 

More  than  half  the  men  were  by  this  time  sick 
and  suffering  and  disheartened.  The  brave 
young  commander,  knowing  that  Port  Royal 
was  at  the  western  end  of  the  valley  and  could 
not  be  many  days'  march  away,  urged  them  on 
in  the  hope  to  reach  this  destination.  But  fate 
had  for  the  stricken  young  soldiers  a  nearer 
destination. 

The  cold  rain  continued.  On  the  afternoon 
of  the  following  day  they  struck  a  sandy  plain. 


m 


iif 


Mi 


' 


hv 


i  \'--   !• 


I 


!'.  i 


li 


I'  }  ■  \  f 


226   THE  SCARLET  SPECTER  OF  SANDY  RIDGE. 

Up  from  the  plain  to  the  west  rose  a  series  of 
low  hills  topped  with  towering  pines;  the  great 
trees  promised  shade,  the  soft  f  urzy  ground  rest. 
With  all  their  strength  the  sick  and  hopeless 
soldiers  pushed  on  toward  them,  and  at  sunset 
reached  the  first  ridge,  and  laid  themselves  down 
to  wait  for  strength,  or  death  —  they  cared  little 
which. 

When  morning  came  again  they  saw,  seated 
by  the  young  commander's  head,  the  strange, 
soldier-coated  woman.  If  they  had  seen  Port 
Royal  they  would  not  have  been  more  surprised. 
In  their  fatigue  and  sickness  they  had  forgot- 
ten about  her,  and  since  that  first  day's  march 
her  name  had  not  been  spoken  by  any  among 
them. 

The  woman  expressed  no  surprise  at  their 
condition,  and  except  to  the  commander,  she 
spoke  but  seldom.  In  and  out  among  the  sick 
and  dying  men  she  went ;  what  comfort  she 
could  give  them,  she  gave.  Water  was  their 
want,   and    to   the    thirty,   disheartened    men, 


m 


:k 


:ir 


n, 


^  i 

^^^^^^■i 

1 

fi 


!! 

,'i 


1^1  M 


^v 


h  . 


r  i 


li        I 


I 
.     'I  il 


ill) 


I     '! 


THE   SCARLET  SPECTER   OF   SANDY   RIDGE.      229 


there  seemed  no  prospect  of  getting  it.  But 
the  strange  woman  knew  where  was  a  deep 
and  pure  spring,  and  hour  after  hour,  in  their 
small  tin  cans  she  brought  it  to  them,  cool 
and  fresh. 

The  great  haversacks,  so  stout  at  the  start, 
were  nearly  empty  now,  and  what  food  remained 
was  salt.  After  the  rain  the  sun  shone  with  all 
the  fiery  heat  of  a  July  day.  It  was  a  good-by 
summer  shining  from  the  clear  autumn  sky.  It 
ripened  the  late  grain  of  the  Acadian  farmers ; 
it  reddened  the  clustering  apples  in  their 
orchards ;  tinged  with  many  hues  the  forest 
foliage,  and  brought  delight  and  gladness  to 
thousands  of  hearts.  But  it  scorched  the 
cheeks  and  parched  the  lips  of  the  poor  soldier 
lads  who  had  pitched  their  final  tent  on  that 
wild  sand-ridge.  Fitful  winds  rustled  in  the 
tall  pine  tops,  and  fluttered  the  leaves  of  toss- 
ing branches  far  above  them,  but  stooped  not 
to  sway  the  hot  brown  furze,  or  fan  the  hectic 
faces  of  the  fever-stricken  men  stretched  upon  it. 


it        I' 


Hi  " 


1^  ;:!f 


P 


jl 


m 


'li? 


330      THE   SCARLET   SPECTER   OF    SANDY   RIDGE. 


I 

fii: 


I:  I  :,: 


By  noon  of  the  next  day  one  half  their  num- 
ber were  still  as  the  stirless  air  about  them. 
Their  weak  comrades  laid  them  to  rest  in  the 
hot  sand,  and  then  lay  down  themselves,  to  rise 
never  again. 

Constantly  the  strange  red-coated  woman  at- 
tended to  their  wants.  The  captain  was  to  her 
crazy  mind  her  long-sought  son,  and  for  him 
she  had  special  care.  But  all  the  men  were 
"her  boys,"  and  to  all  she  filled  a  mother's 
place  :  closed  tlie  eyes  and  laid  the  swollen, 
still  hands  over  the  quiet  hearts,  and  when  no 
one  was  left  strong  enough,  she  digged  the  nar- 
row beds  in  the  sand,  and  laid  the  dead  away 
to  rest. 

At  last  her  strength  seemed  to  fail,  and  she 
lay  down  with  the  dying  men  and  made  no  fur- 
ther effort. 

While  tlif  re,  in  the  still,  hot  afternoon,  with 
no  sound  but  the  faint  swaying  of  the  pine-tops 
above  them,  and  the  tainter  rustling  of  the 
brown  furze  about  them,  she  raised  herself  on 


ii 


If 


m 


THE   SCARLET   SPECTER   OF   SANDV    RIDGE.      231 


|(fi 


one  arm  and  listened.  They  who  watched  her 
listened,  but  they  heard  nought. 

"  It  is  the  marching  of  men  !  "  she  said.  "  I 
hear  them  ;  they  are  coming  to  save  you  !  " 

Eagerly  the  hopeless  soldiers  tried  to  listen 
also,  but  only  the  sound  of  the  dry  hot  wind  fell 
upon  their  dull  ears. 

"  I  hear  them,"  again  said  the  woman.  "  I 
must  go  and  find  them  before  they  pass."  And 
she  rose  to  her  feet,  but  fell  back  helpless. 

"  It  is  her  crazy  head,"  the  soldiers  said,  as 
hope  died  again  in  their  hearts.  "Her  poor 
crazy  head." 

The  next  morning  she  was  better,  or  said  she 
was.  "  I  am  going  to  find  the  troops,"  she  said  ; 
"they  must  have  rested  all  night,  and  are  not 
far  away.     I  will  bring  them  back  with  me." 

The  lads  looked  at  one  another  silently,  as  she 
placed  a  can  of  water  from  the  spring  at  every 
head.  She  did  not  say  the  haversacks  were 
empty,  but  they  guessed  it.  They  waved  their 
sick  hands  in  good-by  as  she  went  down  the 


III 

'  )  i 

Mr 


/rni 


i'*i'';j 


ill  !.| 


ji 

$ 

1'; 

1  ■     ■  ,- 

■^1  ';■ 

11 

■■'!  ■ ' 


232       THE   SCARLET   SPECTER    OF    SANDY    RIDGE. 

slope.  "  Her  poor  crazy  head,"  they  murmured, 
as  her  light  feet  sped  over  the  furze  aiid  sand  — 
"  her  poor  crazy  head  "  —  and  watched  till  they 
lost  the  last  gleam  of  the  red  coat  and  cap  among 
the  great  trees  on  the  opposite  hill. 

Over  the  barren  wastes,  in  every  direction, 
went  her  light,  crazy  feet.  At  last  she  struck 
the  beaten  trail  of  a  marching  army ;  but  the 
troops  were  far  away.  It  was  the  trail  of  Ram- 
zey  and  his  seven  hundred  men,  on  their  return 
march  from  Port  Royal  to  Minas.  They  had 
gone  within  half  a  mile  of  that  death  camp  on 
the  sand  ridges. 

All  day  the  old  woman  followed  on  their 
trail,  then  gave  up,  and  weary  and  tottering  re- 
turned to  the  sick  soldiers.  The  tin  cans  were 
empty,  but  there  was  no  longer  need  to  fill 
them.  Not  one  of  her  brave  "  boys  "  was  left 
alive.     For  them  all  now  the  march  was  ended. 

l-.ate  in  November  Old  Mag  made  her  appear- 
ance at  Minas.     She  had  not  b':cn  at  the  village 


;^ 


'U  dtiiimiau 


THE   SCARLET    SPECTER    OF    SANDY    RIDGE.       233 

for  two  months,  and  the  people  supposed  she 
had  met  death  in  some  of  her  wild  tramps. 
Many  questions  were  asked  about  her  long 
absence,  but  she  talked  little,  and  seemed  to  be 
no  longer  wild  in  her  insanity,  but  strange  and 
silent. 

As  the  years  passed,  she  grew  more  silent,  and 
gave  up  her  wandering  fits,  except  in  September 
and  October  of  every  autumn,  when  she  was 
missed  from  the  hamlet. 

At  the  time  of  the  expulsion  of  her  people  in 
"  55  "  she  was  off  on  one  of  these  tramps.  By 
some  means  her  little  house  escaped  the  burn- 
ing, and  when  British  subjects  took  possession 
of  the  lands  of  the  evicted  Acadians,  they  found 
the  old  French  woman  living  in  the  solitary 
litt)*-.  h  ..  Among  these  strange  people,  who 
'•new  nothing  of  her  past  histoy,  she  gained 
the  reputation  of  a  witch  ^^■^,  fortune-teller, 
and  many,  curious  to  lift  the  veiled  future, 
flocked  to  her  house. 

She  lived  to  be  a  hundred  and  two  years  old. 


■I  ^11 


'  'i;i 


IS 


!| 


r 


I 


W: 


234      THE   SCARLET   SPECTER   OF    SANDY    RIDGE. 

During  the  last  hours  of  her  life,  she  told  the 

tale  of  the  buried  soldiers  on  that  sandy  ridge. 

They  who  heard  her  thought  it  but  a  "  vision  " 

or  the  rrving  of  unreason,  as  she  describea  the 

white  reaches  of  hills,  the  great  pines,  the  dying 

of  the  men  and  the  spring  of  clear  water.     They 

listened,  but  believed  not,  as  she  told  ho'v  s -.e 

gathered  the  glittering  arms  together  anr'  thiev. 

them  into  a  bottomless  bog  belo^v  the  slop..,  and 

collected  the  gold  and  valuables  of  the  lads  and 

buried  them  with  the  loved  young  commander. 

But  as  time  passed  and  the  old  won  an's  story 

was  told  outside  the  village  wh^re  she  lived, 

her  reputation  as  a  fortune-teller  added  weight 

to  the  "  vision,"  and  men  made  search  for  the 

sandy   ridge   with    the   clear   spring   of    water 

and  bottomless  bog.     The  face  of  the  country 

had  changed  in  the  fifty  years  since  "46"  ;  but 

at  length   some  one  found  the  pine-clad  hills, 

and   from  a  sunny  southern  slope    digged    up 

white  and  mouldering  bones  and  remnants  of 
armor. 


■ 


*! 


THE   SCARLET  SPECTER    OF   SANDY    RIDGE.       235 

Then  there  were  searchers  innumerable.  Men 
are  living  yet  who  tell  of  midnight  expeditions 
to  the  spot.  Mineral  rods  have  been  called  to 
aid  the  search ;  and  more  rustic  seekers  have 
cut  the  forks  of  ihe  mystic  witch-hazel  and  fol- 
lowed its  bendings  and  twistings  toward  heaps 
and  hollows  in  the  brown  furze.  Buckles  of 
metal,  buttons  and  mouldering  bones  have  re- 
warded the  ardent  adventurers,  but  no  golden 
coins  have  yet  been  shown. 

There  is  rumor  that  an  old  man  living  near, 
who  was  in  one  day  changed  from  a  poor  to  a 
rich  man,  found  the  commander's  grave  and  the 
buried  gold.  He  was  seen  by  many,  digging 
over  the  sunny  slope,  and  he  did  not  deny,  nor 
would  he  own,  that  he  found  the  treasure.  But 
his  descendants  still  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the 
strange  sudden  prosperity  that  the  old  man's 
neighbors  say  came  to  him  in  no  other  way. 

The  little  bog  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  has 
never  given  up  its  glittering  arms.  It  is 
sparsely  grown    now,   with    hackmaiacks   and 


i  rt.H 

■  '■» 

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iiliiii ' 
1  If  '*"'' ' 

ffl  1 1 

liiii 

1 

236       THE    SCARLET   SPECTER   OF    SANDY    RIDGE. 

black  spruces,  but  no  man  has  ever  yet  been 
able  to  sound  its  mysterious  depths. 

The  clear  spring  of  water  not  far  distant  is, 
except  to  a  few,  unknown  and  unused ;  and 
ferns  spread  their  creeping  fronds  over  the 
moist  surrounding  stones  forever  wet  with  the 
ascending  vapor. 

The  great  pines  have  been  cut  away  from 
many  of  the  hills,  and  heath  and  wild  cranberry 
vines  grow  in  their  stead.  The  Ridge  is  deso- 
late; only  the  winds  frequent  it,  save  when 
leaves  are  sere  and  the  pale  brown  lights  of 
October  are  on  the  hills.  Then  a  woman  in  a 
red  coat  and  cap  haunts  the  spot.  Hither  and 
thither,  over  the  white  ridges  hurries  the  soldier- 
coated  specter  —  out  on  the  verdured  plain  to 
the  east,  across  the  barren  moor  to  the  west, 
ever  on  the  run  —  not  the  wind  over  the  wastes, 
not  the  spurred  steed  that  flees  at  her  approach, 
is  more  fleet  than  her  light  and  hurrying  feet. 
She  is  seeking  for  the  marching  troops,  and  no 
one  willingly  crosses  her  path. 


|tl6 


'P' 


X. 

"  BOY  BLUE  "  OF  GRAND  Pr£ 

JANUARY  20,  1747. 
The  white,  coM  light  of  a  winter  moon 
shone  over  the  icebound  Basin  of  Cumberland. 
Crisp,  frosty  snow  lay  deep  and  level  on  the 
wide,  open  marshes,  drifted  and  banked  along 
the  upland  slopes,  wreathed  and  festooned  the 
leaf-forsaken  forests  of  the  Shepody  Hills,  and 
curled  in  fantastic  cornice  over  the  ragged  edge 
of  their  cliffy  summits. 

Two  months  had  the  French  Commander 
Ramzey,  and  his  Canadian  troops,  been  quar- 
tered in  the  little  village  of  Beaubassin,  one  of 
the  many  prosperous  French  settlemerits  then 
circling  the  Basin  at  the  head  of  the  Bay  of 
Fundy.     Since  his  return  from  the  unsuccessful 

237 


:Ur 


■  l-i-y 


if 

mi 


mm 


m 


|4i 


ii'ii' ';  -^^ 


\  m 


i 


238 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PRE. 


!   !    i 


If 


■ '  1 1 


attack  on  Port  Royal,  his  soldiers  had  been  in 
winter  quarters.  Early  in  December  a  report 
had  reached  him,  that  a  large  force  of  British 
volunteers  from  Massachusetts  was  to  be  sent 
to  the  Province,  and  for  several  weeks  he  anx- 
iously waited  for  some  word  of  their  arrival;  but 
none  came,  and  a  deep  fall  of  snow  now  shut  off 
all  communication  by  land  with  the  settlements 
along  the  shores,  while  the  cold  filled  the  Basin 
virith  floating  icebergs,  and  precluded  navigation. 
Thus  garrisoned  by  the  elements,  the  troops  ex- 
pected to  remain  until  the  warm  airs  of  spring 
had  loosened  winter's  icy  hold  of  land  and  sea. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  evening  of  the  twen- 
tieth of  January,  Ramzey  was  alone  in  the  house 
where  he  had  taken  up  his  quarters.  He  had 
gone  to  the  casement  for  a  final  look  upon  the 
lonely  white  wastes,  when  a  loud,  sharp  knocking 
sounded  on  the  outer  door.  He  quickly  opened 
it.  Two  dark  figures  stood  in  the  shovelled  path- 
way through  the  high  banked  snow. 

"  Here  is  a  messenger  who  would  see  you, 


"  BOY   BLUE  "  or   GRAND   PRE. 


239 


't  ■' " 


sire/'  said  the  foremost,  with  a  salute  to  the 
commander  as  he  swung  wide  open  the  heavy 
plank  door. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Ramzey,  recognizing 
in  the  speaker  the  sentry  from  the  guard  house, 
and  glancing  sharply  out  at  the  large  figure  in 
the  pathway  beyond. 

"  He  would  not  tell  me,  sire,"  answered  the 
soldier,  "but  he  would  see  )ou  to-night,  and 
would  answer  no  questions  of  mine." 

At  this  the  commander  stepped  back  into  the 
room,  where  lights  and  fire-arms  made  safe  a 
reception  of  a  strange  messenger.  "  Let  him 
come  in  here,"  he  said. 

The  man  was  on  the  threshold  as  the  com- 
mander finished  speaking,  and  passing  ahead  of 
the  soldier,  entered  quickly  the  warm  light  room 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Ramzey  glanced  questioningly  at  him.  He 
seemed  in  no  haste  to  speak,  but  began  remov- 
ing his  wrapping.  The  outer  coat  or  mantle  was 
of  coarse   heavy  jersey,  such  as  the   peasant 


■I  ■  ■    V    -M 


if  I 


(3 


I*i.: 

1 

i  ..  ¥ 

.'    1:^r^-k 

)i  ■ 

m 


ii''' 

1!.: 


li 


f^ii 


m-. 


^•1 


I 


240 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pre. 


French  wore  in  winter  weather.  Under  this 
was  a  short  jerkin  of  thick  fur,  and  beneath  this 
a  waistcoat  of  dressed  skin.  On  his  head,  and 
pulled  well  down  over  his  forehead,  was  a  large 
round  cap. 

One  after  the  other  he  pulled  off  these  outer 
garments,  and  throwing  them  carelessly  on  the 
floor  beside  him,  he  stood  before  the  commander, 
not  the  stout,  strong  man  he  had  at  first  sight 
seemed,  but  a  compactly  built,  sturdy  youth  of 
about  nineteen,  dressed  in  a  half  suit  of  army 
jeans,  and  with  the  artless,  candid  face  of  a  boy 
of  thirteen. 

Ramzey's  own  face  lighted,  as  with  a  toss  of 
his  skin  cap  to  the  floor,  the  lad  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  merry  glance  in  his  blue  eyes. 
"  Henri !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  when  did  you  come, 
and  how,  and  why  in  this  guise  of  clothes  ? " 

"  The  weather  is  cold,  sire,"  the  young  man 
replied,  "and  heavy  clothing  is  a  necessity  — 
and  there  might  be  other  reasons  —  but  are  we 
alone?" 


^ 


"  BOY    BLUE  "    OF   GRAND    PR^. 


241 


Ramzey  nodded  a  reply,  went  to  the  case- 
ment and  closed  it,  and  then  seated  himself  near 
the  lad. 

"There  are  four  hundred  British  soldiers  from 
Massachusetts  camped  at  Grand  Pre,  quartered 
in  our  people's  houses,  and  your  men  could  kill 
them  all  in  an  hour." 

"  Your  voucher  for  your  word,  boy  !  "  inter- 
rupted the  officer  quickly. 

The  youth's  face  flushed,  and  a  reply  seemed 
to  tremble  on  his  lips,  but  was  not  spoken  ;  and 
from  an  inner  pocket  he  drew  a  sealed  paper 
and  handed  it  to  the  commander. 

Ramzey  broke  the  seal,  and  hastily  read  and 
re-read  the  contents  of  the  paper. 

"  Your  pardon,  lad,"  he  said,  with  a  proffered 
hand  when  he  had  finished.  "  But  in  these 
troublous  times  false  words  and  true  are  alike 
falsely  dressed,  and  caution  is  necessary  when 
receiving  words  and  men  unguarded.  Your 
voucher  is  authority,  however ;  I  know  the 
priest's  handwriting.     But  he  tells  me  no  more 


Ui 


t^l 


m 


[  ~  "■ 


i!' 

!?;-:■      ^'1 

i^L,;.     ■ 

M 

*  *  ' ' 

■;.'"■  ■  -^ 
i. 

242 


"boy  blu."  of  grand  pre. 


than  that  your  words  can  be  relied  upon,  and 
that  it  is  a  dangerous  way  for  a  man  to  make 
alone.  Where  have  you  been  since  I  last  saw 
you  in  the  autumn,  and  when  did  you  see  the 
fort  at  Port  Royal  last.?" 

"  Six  weeks  and  some  days  ago.  I  deserted 
from  the  fort.  The  three  signal  guns  were  fired 
when  I  left,  and  I  needed  to  take  time  and 
caution." 

"  Why  were  you  not  content  to  remain,  and 
what  brought  you  here  ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

The  youth  hesitated  an  instant,  then  with  a 
straight  glance  at  the  commander,  he  said  : 

"  I  left  because  I  wanted  money,  and  when 
you  were  in  Port  Royal  you  promised  me  a  place 
if  I  came  to  you  —  that  is  why  I  deserted.  But 
when  I  got  to  Minas  I  found  the  British  soldiers 
there,  and  our  people  forced  to  feed  and  shelter 
them.  I  knew  the  king's  officer  would  give  a 
reward  to  the  man  who  brought  him  the  news, 
and  I  risked  the  long,  cold  journey  for  the  re- 
ward.    Will  you  give  it  ?    The  priest  promised 


"Ill 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PR^. 


243 


me  it  should  not  be  less  than  fifty  louis-d'or  — 
did  he  tell  you  so  in  the  paper  I  gave  you  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  so,  and  you  shall  have  it,"  re- 
plied the  officer.  "  And  the  king  may  double 
the  reward  if  the  British  can  be  caught  in  that 
cage  —  I  like  the  spirit  of  the  messenger  and  I 
can  make  good  use  of  you,  my  boy." 

"I  did  not  come  to  stay  in  your  service,"  said 
the  lad.  "  I  am  to  be  back  in  Minas  by  the 
tenth  of  next  month,  and  I  want  the  reward." 

"You  shall  have  it,"  said  Ramzey,  "but  you 
cannot  leave  me  yet.  Your  message  means 
work  for  our  soldiers.  That  work  means  a 
march  through  the  woods  to  Minas,  and  you 
must  pilot  them  there.  Your  reward  will  be 
twice  doubled  if  you  take  them  safely  and  lead 
them  direct  to  the  houses  where  the  British  are 
quartered." 

"  I  will  take  the  sum  the  priest  promised,  and 
go  now,"  said  the  youth.  "  I  niu^it  be  back  in 
Minas  by  the  tenth  of  February." 

"There  is  but  one  must  in  the  case,"  said  the 


'Mi 

i 


244 


"  BOV    BLUE  "   OF    GRAND   Pr£. 


'■■,  '•) 


^liliiii 


iiii 


commander  sternly,  "  and  that  is  that  you  must 
stay  here  till  the  soldiers  are  ready  to  march, 
and  then  guide  them  to  Minas—  •"-'  till  then 
you  are  a  prisoner  and  go  not  out  from  this 
house.  At  daybreak  I  will  call  a  council  and  in 
three  days  at  the  most,  a  start  can  be  made. 
This  will  give  you  as  long  a  time  for  your  jour- 
ney back  as  you  used  in  coming,  and  you  can 
be  in  Minas  on  your  '  tenth  day,'  and  a  goodly 
escort  with  you."  And  without  waiting  for  a 
reply  the  commander  called  the  sentinel  and 
gave  the  youth  in  charge,  with  actions  to 
keep  him  under  watch. 

As  he  was  led  away,  unresisting,  except  in 
his  flushed  face,  the  officer  picked  from  the  floor 
the  heavy  clothing,  and  a  bright  bit  of  blue  rib- 
bon tied  in  a  knot  fashioned  only  by  a  maiden's 
fingers,  dropped  from  among  it.  The  stern 
commander  smiled,  and  tucked  the  blue  silk  in 
his  own  waistcoat  pocket.  Then  with  orders 
for  food  and  fire  to  be  provided  for  the  lad's 
comfort,  he  closed  and  barred  his  door. 


.n^! 


i 


"  BOY    BLUE  "    OF   GRAND    Pr£. 


245 


Early  next  morning  the  council  was  called. 
Ramzey  had  deliberated  long  upon  the  news 
brought  by  the  boy,  and  laid  his  plans  for  the 
march  and  the  attack  upon  the  surprised  soldiers 
at  ease  in  the  houses  of  the  people  of  Grand 
Prd  The  word  soon  spread  among  the  troops, 
and  many  were  the  questions  about  the  mes- 
senger who  brought  the  news.  Some  of  them 
remembered  him  as  the  young  French  lad  from 
Grand  Prd  who  had  enlisted  with  the  British  at 
Port  Royal,  and  vvho  was  often  sent  to  the 
French  camp  during  the  informal  and  unmartial 
interviews  of  that  autumn  campaign. 

All  that  the  lad  had  told  him  of  the  British 
soldiers,  Ramzey  made  known  to  his  troops, 
and  read  to  them  the  priest's  letter  in  confirma- 
tion. There  was  small  need  of  persuasion  or 
commanding;  the  men  were  eager  for  the  at- 
tack, and  in  spite  of  the  severity  of  the  cold 
and  the  untrodden  snow  and  the  dense  forests, 
were  all  anxious  to  undertake  the  march.  Of 
the  lad's  unwillingness  to  guide  them,  and  his 


( ii 


^1^ 


m 


li 


i  ! 


it 


|.ii 


» 


246 


"  BOV    BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   Pr6. 


temporary  imprisonment,  nothing  was  known 
by  them. 

After  the  council,  Ramzey  went  at  once  to 
the  little  room  where  Henri  had  been  confined, 
and  went  over  and  stood  by  him,  the  care  and 
anxiety  on  his  own  face  lifting  at  sight  of  the 
fresh,  frank  one  of  the  lad  for  whom  he  had 
taken  such  a  strong  fancy  in  their  interviews  at 
Port  Royal. 

"  Henri,"  he  said,  "  in  times  of  war,  necessity 
makes  energies  of  our  best  friends.  It  is  in  my 
heart  to  le!  you  do  as  you  wish,  but  I  must  keep 
you  and  force  you  to  lead  the  soldiers  to  Minas. 
For  the  sake  of  the  king  I  serve,  I  must  do  this. 
He  is  your  king  as  well,  and  you  should  not  be 
unwilling  to  serve  him.  Only  one  hundred  of 
the  men  now  here  were  with  me  at  Port  Royal^ 
the  remainder  are  new  troops  from  Quebec  and 
are  ignorant  of  the  country.  Those  who  were 
at  Port  Royal  came  here  by  water  and  know  no 
part  of  the  long  journey  that  we  must  now  make 
around  the  head  of  the  bay.    None  of  them 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pr6. 


247 


could  f*-  d  their  way  unguided  over  those  snow- 
buried  paths." 

The  youth  made  no  answer,  but  stood  silently 
in  front  of  the  commander. 

"What  is  your  need  of  your  haste  ?  "  Ramzey 
asked  at  length,  "  and  why  do  you  need  the 
money  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  there  on  the  tenth,  and  I  must 
have  the  money,"  answered  the  youth.  "Is  it 
full  faith  to  deny  the  promised  reward }  Is 
it  honor  to  detain  the  man  who  brings  you  the 
news  at  the  risk  of  his  life  ?  " 

The  commander  glanced  quizzically  at  him, 
and  drew  out  the  bit  of  blue  ribbon  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  The  lad  caught  it  and  held 
it  in  his  hand.  Ramzey  smiled,  not  banter- 
ingly,  but  with  the  look  of  one  who  had  known 
life  and  love  and  had  not  forgotten ;  and  he 
waited  quietly  for  some  explanation  further  than 
had  been  given. 

For  an  instant,  as  he  held  the  ribbon  in  his 
hand,  the  youth  seemed  about  to  reply,  but  a 


.1! 


El 


!■  r. 


:| 


il 


liiii 


'I 


248 


"  BOY    BLUE  "    OF   GRAND    PRE. 


If    ; 


r-  . 


.;„...., 


w.        f 


„     ' 


.'1  > 


Ul,    1 


restive  look  crept  into  his  flushed  face,  and  he 
made  no  answer  for  several  minutes.  A'  length 
he  said : 

"  I  came  here  for  the  money  the  priest  prom- 
ised would  be  given.  You  have  no  right  to 
keep  it  from  me  or  detain  .; ;  but  if  I  stay  and 
guide  the  men  back,  will  you  double  the  reward, 
as  you  said  ?  " 

"I  will,"  said  Ramzey. 

"  And  you  will  give  me  the  first  half  when  I 
start  ? " 

"  Yes,  when  you  start,  and  the  other  half  you 
shall  have  when  you  have  led  the  men  to  the 
house  and  the  fighting  is  done,  not  until  then  — 
it  will  be  given  Coulon  for  you." 

"  I  will  do  it,"  said  the  youth,  "but  I  am  to 
be  in  Minas  on  the  tenth,  remember  that." 

"Then  rest  at  ease  now,"  said  the  commander, 
"  and  keep  your  wits  sharpened  ;  there  must  be 
no  false  moves  made  on  the  march.  What  you 
remember  of  the  way,  detail  to  the  officer  I  will 
send  you,"  and  Ramzey  left  the  room. 


mi 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pr£ 


249 


That  day  and  the  next,  and  all  through  the 
two  long  nights,  the  preparations  went  on. 
Racquettes  and  moccasins  had  to  be  procured 
from  the  Indians,  and  wicker  hand-sleighs  for 
carrying  food  and  accoutrements.  Until  they 
reached  Cobequid,  a  distance  of  fifty  miles,  no 
fresh  food  could  be  obtained. 

When  all  was  ready  for  the  march,  the  boy 
was  released  from  his  imprisonment,  and  went 
freely  about  among  the  men.  "  The  lad,"  they 
called  him,  though  not  a  soldier  among  them 
was  taller  or  straighter  than  he.  It  was  the 
round,  smooth  boyish  face,  which  seemed  to 
have  lingered  with  all  its  charm  on  his  sturdy, 
compact  form,  that  gained  him  the  nickname. 

Ramzey  was  himself  laid  up  with  lameness 
and  unable  to  attempt  the  journey ;  and  the 
command  of  the  expedition  fell  upon  Coulon  de 
Villiere,  the  officer  next  in  rank. 

On  the  twenty-third  day  of  January  they  set 
out,  three  hundred  strong.  Their  way  lay  first 
through  the  dense  woods  to  Bay  de  Verde,  from 


in 

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i 


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250 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PRE. 


there  along  the  gulf  to  Tatamagouche,  and 
thence  to  Cobequid  at  the  head  of  Minas  Basin. 

Clear,  cold  weather  followed  them  thus  far. 
The  lad  had  resumed  the  disguise  in  which  he 
came  to  Beaubassin,  and  on  his  trim  close-filled 
racquettes,  led  the  way  over  the  trackless  wil- 
derness of  snow,  never  once  mistaking  the  trail, 
or  wavering  in  his  selection  of  routes  over  and 
around  the  great  hills,  and  through  the  thick 
swamps.  Some  one  had  caught  sight  of  the  blue 
ribbon  as  he  opened  his  great  coat  on  the  first 
day  of  the  march,  and  when  the  laugh  and  jest 
went  round,  the  lad  defiantly  fastened  it  upon 
the  outer  coat  in  full  view  of  all.  "  Boy  Blue  ! " 
said  one  of  the  men,  and  by  one  and  another 
this  new  name  was  taken  up,  and  he  was  called 
by  no  other  all  of  the  journey. 

A  snowstorm,  fierce  and  wild,  came  upon 
them  as  they  started  forth  after  the  night's  rest 
at  Cobequid,  and  the  travel  was  slow  and  diffi- 
cult. The  crust  had  not  formed  on  the  newly 
falling  snow,  and  the  racquettes  sunk  deep  in 


"mm'] 


I'h 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pr£ 


251 


its  crystal  depths.  All  day  and  all  night  the 
cold,  white  depths  increased,  banked  and  barred 
the  hills,  bent  upon  their  heads  the  broad 
branches  of  the  great  trees,  and  tangled  about 
their  racquette-cumbered  feet  the  thick,  low  un- 
derbrush. Five  pounds  of  beef  and  one  loaf 
of  bread  for  each  man  was  all  the  provision 
they  had  for  the  seventy-five-mile  march  yet 
before  them.  The  storm  had  delayed  them  a 
full  day,  and  there  were  no  provisions  nearer 
than  Pigiquit. 

A  look  of  weary  anxiety  came  over  the  boyish 
face  of  their  guide.  The  men  noticed  it.  *'  Boy 
Blue  is  worn  out,"  they  said.  "  If  the  sledges 
were  strong  enough  we  would  carry  him." 

But  he  seemed  not  to  need  rest.  It  Was  the 
slowness  of  the  march  that  gave  him  the  look. 
In  the  detachments  sent  ahead  to  break  the  way 
he  was  always  the  leader,  and  unwilling  to  wait 
the  coming  up  of  the  main  body. 

"  If  we  cannot  cross  the  Chimnakadie  on  the 
ice  we  will  lose  another  day  in  going  round  to 


ft  : 


Hii 


i»iii»  "J 


J.!„         'S 


252 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pre. 


U   ' 


.1 


PJ 


i>  V 


i'    i 


1 1 


where  it  can  be  bridged,"  he  said.  The  crunch 
of  the  racquettes  in  the  snow  was  the  only  sound 
as  the  men  pushed  on  after  these  portentous 
words  of  their  guide. 

On  the  morning  of  the  thirteenth  day  of  their 
march  they  reached  the  river's  broad  channel. 
But  the  tides  of  Cobequid  Bay  had  broken  the 
frost-bridge  into  great  cakes,  which  ground  and 
chafed  against  each  other,  and  went  and  came 
with  each  ebb  and  flow.  To  cross  it  there  was 
impossible,  and  they  were  forced  to  march  ten 
miles  out  of  their  course  to  a  place  where  a  tem- 
porary bridge  could  be  made.  A  day  and  a  half 
wa:s  lost  in  this  effort. 

When  they  were  once  more  on  their  route  a 
change  came  over  their  guide.  He  seemed  no 
longer  impatient,  but  the  weary  look  on  the  boy- 
face  settled  into  a  sullen,  resolute  expression, 
and  he  seldom  spoke  to  the  soldiers. 

The  night  of  the  seventh  another  storm  of 
great  severity  set  in,  and  by  morning  the  drift- 
ing snow  had  so  changed  the  face  of  the  country 


T 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   Pr£ 


253 


that  the  young  guide  seemed  bewildered  as  to 
the  course.  A  great  hill,  covered  with  snow- 
laden  trees  and  wreathed  with  long,  irregular 
drifts,  lay  before  the  weary  and  famishing  men. 

"I  am  not  certain  which  side  of  it  to  lead 
them,"  said  the  lad,  and  he  volunteered  to  go 
alone  to  the  top,  where  he  could  get  a  better 
view  of  the  country  and  decide  upon  the  nearest 
and  most  passable  route  around.  The  com- 
mander gave  his  consent,  and  the  young  man 
started  out,  climbed  the  steep  hillside,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  thick  snow-shrouded  forest. 

Hours  passed  and  he  did  not  return.  The 
soldiers  were  waiting  his  coming  to  continue 
their  march. 

"  Could  he  have  dropped  from  exhaustion  ? " 
they  said,  "  he  seemed  made  of  steel." 

Except  that  some  of  them  remembered  him 
in  the  campaign  at  Port  Royal,  no  one  knew 
more  about  him  than  that  he  had  brought  to 
Ramzey  the  news  of  the  British  soldiers;  but 
all  had  taken  a  strong  liking  to  him  from  the 


'■ff 


:\ 


m 

mm 


m  '' 


! 
.V        ' 

\ 

•i 

j 
■i 

.i 

j: 

1 

1 

I 
\\ 

IK 

6 


254 


"  BOY    BLUE "    OF    GRAND    PR^. 


Start,  and  the  blue  knot  of  ribbon  so  dauntlessly 
worn,  had  found  a  tender  spot  in  the  breast  of 
even  the  hardest. 

They  remembered  his  impatient  haste  to  get 
ahead,  the  weary  look  when  they  were  delayed, 
and  sudden  silence  for  the  two  last  days,  and 
his  wonderful  endurance  of  fatigue  during  the 
long  and  toilsome  march. 

Till  noon  the  commander  waited  his  return, 
but  he  came  not ;  then  a  hurried  council  was 
called.  It  was  impossible  to  follow  the  course 
he  had  taken;  many  of  the  soldiers  were  un- 
used to  the  snow-shoes  and  could  never  climb 
the  great  wreaths  along  the  hillside,  and  besides 
this  the  drifting  snow  had  now  completely  cov- 
ered his  track.  So  the  march  was  taken  up  to 
the  right  of  the  hill  and  continued  in  the  direc- 
tion forced  upon  them  by  the  snow-barricaded 
hillside. 

The  march  around  was  slow,  and  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  route  was  like  clogs  to  the  feet  of 
the  discouraged  soldiers.     With  the  loss  of  their 


BOY    BLUE       OF    GRAND    PRE. 


255 


?ll 


guide  they  lost  faith  in  their  ability  to  make  the 
perilous  journey  to  the  end.  Toward  night 
their  way  was  through  a  forest  of  great  spread- 
ing hemlock  that  had  broken  the  fury  of  the 
storm.  Beneath  their  hundred  tiers  of  green 
branches  the  snow  lay  undrifted  and  deep. 
Suddenly  one  of  the  foremost  men  called  out, 

"A  track  !  a  racquette  track  !  " 

"  Examine  its  fashion,"  said  the  commander. 
"  Boy  Blue  wore  the  Iroquois  racquette ;  is  it 
his?" 

"It  is  long  and  slender,"  said  the  soldier, 
"  and  turned  up  at  the  toe.  It  may  be  an  In- 
dian's, and  Boy  Blue  may  have  been  a  British 
decoy." 

"  It  is  the  Iroquois  racquette,  and  our  guide's 
track,  I  believe  ;  follow  it ! "  coiimanded  Cou- 
lon.  "  If  he  has  gone  ahead,  he  has  taken  the 
shortest  road,  and  Pigiquit  cannot  be  many 
hours*  march  distant." 

The  soldiers  obeyed  the  order,  and  followed 
the  ghostly  trail.     Six  hours  of  weary  tramping, 


li  .1 

a  if 


ff 


256 


ti 


» 


BOY   BLUE"  OF   GRAND   PRE. 


i;r 


i 


',1 1 


I  I 


(     I 


li; 


5 1  :i;    4 


%'l 


and  then  came  signs  of  a  settlement.  Encour- 
aged, the  tired  men  quickened  their  march,  and 
in  an  hour  more  were  at  the  French  village. 
The  snow-shoe  prints  had  proved  a  safe  guide. 

The  remainder  of  the  night  and  part  of  the 
next  day  they  rested.  The  people  received 
them  gladly,  provided  provisions,  and  when  the 
start  was  made  again,  twenty  of  the  men  accom- 
panied the  army  to  lead  them  across  the  moun- 
tain to  Gaspereaux,  and  over  the  intervening 
ridge  to  Grand  Prd,  where  the  British  soldiers, 
unaware  of  the  near  approach  of  an  enemy,  were 
living  at  the  expense  of  the  frugal  peasants. 

When  they  reached  the  Gaspereaux  they  were 
portioned  out  in  the  French  houses  scattered 
along  the  ridge,  great  fires  were  built  to  dry 
their  wet  clothing,  and  food  provided ;  and  there 
they  were  to  remain  until  midnight  when  the 
final  march  would  be  made  to  Grand  Prd. 

At  Pigiquit  they  could  learn  nothing  of  the 
guide  who  had  so  unexpectedly  deserted  them, 
though  the   prints  of  the    racquette   had   led 


^N 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PRE. 


257 


Straight  to  the  village.  The  storm  and  fatigue 
of  the  march  to  Gaspereaux  had  left  little  time 
for  further  conjectures  of  his  fate,  and  great  was 
the  surprise  when  the  word  was  spread  among 
them  during  the  evening,  that  in  one  of  the 
houses  where  some  of  the  men  lodged,  was  to 
be  a  wedding,  and  the  bridegroom  was  no  other 
than  Boy  Blue  himself. 

"  It  is  a  gay  wedding,"  said  some  of  the  set- 
tlers, "  the  feast  was  planned,  and  the  bride- 
groom picked,  one  of  our  own  lads.  But  last 
night  a  stranger  came  to  the  house,  and  to-day 
when  they  gathered  for  the  feast  the  bridegroom 
proved  to  be  the  stranger,  Henri  Doucet,  a 
young  lad  from  Grand  Prd  who  had  met  and 
loved  the  girl  the  summer  before,  and  who  had 
enlisted  with  the  British  at  Port  Royal,  hoping 
to  earn  the  fifty  louis-d'or  the  father  said  a  son 
of  his  should  show  before  he  took  his  daughter. 
And  it  seems  he  escaped  from  there  in  early 
winter  and  found  the  day  was  set  for  the  wed- 
ding and  he  had  not  the  sum.     This  dared  him 


r  I 


ilipHf 


If 


■     'ir 

•1  r 

.  ■•',  * 

4  i^ 

'ill 
ii 

258 


"  BOY    BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   Pr£ 


m 


to  go  to  Chignecto  with  the  news  of  the  British, 
and  when  he  came  to  the  house  last  night  he 
had  the  louis-d'or  to  show  as  his  right  to  be  son- 
in-law." 

Coulon,  who  held  the  money  given  him  by 
Ramzey  for  the  promised  reward,  hastened  to 
the  house,  where  by  this  time  were  congregated 
many  other  unbidden  guests. 

The  little  room  was  crowded,  and  there  was 
great  commotion  v/hen  the  commander  stepped 
in  among  them  and  demanded  an  interview  with 
the  young  bridegroom. 

The  lad  himself  seemed  in  no  way  confused. 
His  merry  face  looked  a  little  worn  from  the 
long  exposure  of  the  two  journeys,  but  he  met 
with  composure  the  stern  officer,  and  without 
waiting  for  question,  said  : 

"  I  took  Ramzey  the  news,  and  he  gave  me 
the  reward.  He  kept  me  from  returning  when  I 
would,  and  forced  me  to  lead  .  ou  k,  though 
I  told  him  I  must  be  ms  day.     He  prom- 

ised to  double  the  re     '^d  if  t  led  you  to  the 


!' 


i! 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PRt. 


259 


British.  I  have  not  broken  my  faith  ;  I  led  you 
while  I  could,  and  when  I  had  other  faith  to  keep 
I  left  you  my  footprints.  I  knew  you  could  fol- 
low them  to  the  Settlement  and  then  easily  find 
the  rest  of  the  way  here.  I  am  ready  to  go  on 
when  you  go  and  guide  you  to  the  houses  where 
the  British  are  quartered ;  I  promised  Ramzey 
to  do  so,  and  mean  to  keep  my  promise." 

"  Could  not  the  maiden  have  waited,"  asked 
the  officer,  "  till  your  duties  were  over  ? "  and  he 
looked  gravely  at  the  girl  who  stood  beside  the 
youth. 

"  The  maiden  could  wait,"  said  the  lad,  "  but 
her  father  would  not,  and  I  needed  to  hasten  or 
miss  the  day.  She  can  show  her  courage  now, 
while  I  go  with  you  to  the  British  soldiers  to 
earn  the  other  half  of  my  reward." 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  go,"  said  the 
officer,  as  a  murmur  of  protest  arose  from  the 
assembled  guests.  "  You  shall  have  the  reward ; 
I  will  give  it  to  you  without  further  service." 

The  youth's  bright  face  flushed.    "  I  have  not 


I 


26o 


"  BOY    BLUE "   OF   GRAND   Pr£ 


earned  it,"  he  said.     "  I  earned  every  centime 
of  the  other  and  I  do  not  mean  to  beg  this." 

"  You  will  join  the  troops  in  an  hour  then," 
said  the  commander,  and  he  left  the  house. 


mil 


*-1: 


Before  the  expiration  of  the  hour  Boy  Blue 
was  at  headquarters,  and  when  they  set  out  for 
Grand  Pr^  he  led  the  way.  The  anxious,  rest- 
less look  was  gone  from  his  frank  boyish  face. 
The  knot  of  blue  ribbon  still  hung  from  his 
coat,  and  twined  with  it  now  was  a  bow  of  white. 

The  soldiers  cheered  as  he  joined  them, 
cheered  again  as  they  caught  sight  of  the  white 
favor  knotted  with  the  faded  blue.  They  had 
all  heard  the  story,  and  their  stout  hearts  re- 
sponded to  the  power  that  had  made  the  lad 
dare  life  and  honor  for  love. 

Not  apprehending  an  attack  during  the  win- 
ter, Col.  Noble,  the  commander  of  the  British 
forces,  had  raised  no  fortifications,  but  lodged 
his  men  upon  the  habitants.  The  houses  and 
the  roads  were  guarded,  but  in  the  darkness  of 


v 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pre. 


!6l 


the  night  no  sight  or  sound  of  the  enemies' 
approach  reached  the  sentries  till  the  daring 
French  troops  had  crept  to  within  a  few  rods  of 
the  guard. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  called  the  sentinels,  as 
they  caught  the  first  sounds  of  the  approaching 
army. 

No  answer  was  given.  The  cautious  French 
crept  nearer. 

Again  came  the  challenge,  "Who  goes  there?" 
A  flash  and  loud  report  was  the  answer,  and  the 
sentries  dropped  dead.  Then  the  bloody  butch- 
ery began. 

The  British  soldiers,  many  of  them  in  their 
night  clothes  only,  rushed  out  into  the  darkness 
and  the  snow  to  meet  the  deadly  storm  of  bul- 
lets and  thrust  of  bayonets.  The  French  troops 
were  divided  into  ten  detachments,  and  each 
detachment  attacked  a  separate  dwelling.  From 
house  to  house  the  fighting  continued;  three 
hours  in  the  darkness,  and  then  the  gray  light 
of  dawn  from  the  wintry  sky  fell  on  the  crim- 


n 


„n 

1 

^.f.':| 

^.        :'  ..! 

-t  '' 

::|  Is 

\ 

'',!' 


I    II 


•  III 


i      '■ 

t! 

1. 

I,   - 

\ 
ill 

i  1 

|J 

1 

llli 

262 


"  BOY    BLUE  "   OF   GRAND   PrI 


h|>, 


I: 


!    y 


soned  snow.  Col.  Noble  and  one  hundred  and 
forty  of  his  soldiers  lay  dead,  half  a  hundred 
more  were  wounded  and  as  many  others  pris- 
oners. A  truce  was  called,  and  the  deadly 
combat  ceased. 

When  the  French  troops  began  to  gather  after 
their  butchery  was  ended,  Boy  Blue  was  again 
missing.  Some  of  the  soldiers  had  seen  him 
armed  with  a  long  sword  fighting  bravely  hand 
to  hand  with  Col.  Noble  in  the  last  contest  of 
the  morning.  Others  had  seen  that  officer  fall 
from  a  stroke  of  his  blade,  while  the  bloody  en- 
gagement was  still  in  its  fury. 

"The  maiden  has  won  a  brave  husband,"  said 
the  commander,  "  and  he  has  more  than  earned 
his  reward  —  he  has  earned  the  Red  Ribbon  to 
knot  with  his  white  and  blue." 

The  men  cheered. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  We  must  find  him,"  said  the 
commander. 

"  I  know  where  he  is,"  said  a  soldier.  "  I 
have  just  left  him.     Come  with  me." 


I 


"boy  blue"  of  grand  pre. 


263 


ii 


Every  soldier  followed,  and  in  a  little  field  off 
the  road,  near  the  stone  house  where  the  British 
kept  their  cannon  and  where  they  had  made 
their  last  defense  in  the  morning,  they  came 
upon  him. 

Some  one  had  thrown  down  a  cloak  in  the 
white  drift,  and  he  lay  upon  it.  The  blue  ribbon 
and  the  white  still  hung  from  his  coat,  the  ends 
of  the  white  were  shot  away,  and  on  both  frag- 
ments were  blotches  of  blood.  The  boy-look 
still  clung  to  his  face,  but  the  blue  eyes  were 
staring  up  at  the  cold  sky,  and  earth  had  no 
further  claims  or  sights  for  him. 

They  were  inured  to  scenes  of  war,  these 
rough,  daring  soldiers,  but  tears  came  to  many 
eyes  as  they  turned  away  and  left  him  in  the 
white  snow.  In  his  life  he  had  won  their  love, 
and  in  his  death  their  esteem. 

Next  day  they  carried  him  back  to  the  little 
house  where  the  young  wife  waited  for  his  com- 
ing; and  the  following  day,  after  the  capitula- 
tions had  been  agreed  upon  and  the  British 


I   1' 


II 


I'!' '  K'' 


264 


"  BOY   BLUE  "  OF  GRAND   Pr6. 


troops  had  retired  to  Port  Royal,  they  gave  him 
a  soldier's  burial.  Not  a  man  among  them  but 
stood  with  tear-filled  eyes,  as  they  covered  the 
round,  boyish  face,  so  still  in  death,  and  laid 
away  forever  the  lad  who  so  well  deserved  a 
soldier's  tribute  of  affection. 


«fM-t: 


r '1 


Ir  t 


1i' 

'i,!. 


t  ■'•    I 


If  SJ 


On  the  twenty-fifth  of  February,  the  French 
set  out  again  for  Beaubassin.  Before  leaving, 
Coulon  gave  into  the  young  wife's  hands  the  re- 
ward which  would  have  been  the  lad's  had  he 
lived.  Beside  this,  the  ofHcers  and  soldiers 
gave  of  their  own  money  till  the  louis-d'or  were 
three  times  doubled. 

The  rettrn  journey  was  more  easily  made, 
and  in  fourteen  days  Coulon  and  his  men  were 
safely  back  to  Beaubassin  —  the  heroes  of  a 
march  of  eighty  leagues  in  the  depths  of  winter, 
through  a  trackless  forest,  a  march  which  if 
not  well  authenticated,  would  seem  incredible 
to  have  accomplished. 

All  of  the  eight  years,  until  the  expulsion  in 


m 


"  BOY   BLUE  "   OF    GRAND   PRE. 


265 


1755,  the  young  wife  remained  in  her  father's 
house,  keeping  singularly  true  to  the  memory  of 
the  youth  who  had  dared  and  lost  his  life  for 
her  love.  She  was  among  those  who  made  their 
perilous  flight  to  the  woods  and  escaped  the 
cruel  fate  of  transportation. 

After  months  of  wandering  and  misery,  these 
fugitives  made  their  way  to  the  forests  about  the 
Basin  of  Cumberland.  There  they  found  many 
of  their  countrymen  who  had  escaped  from 
the  surrounding  villages  ;  and  after  some  time 
they  settled  on  a  little  wooded  peninsula  which 
stretched  out  into  the  blue  basin.  Main-a-Dieu 
they  called  it.  It  seemed  to  them  veritably  a 
hand  of  God  reached  out  for  their  succor. 

Here  their  descendants  still  live,  a  separate 
people,  mingling  not  with  the  people  about  them, 
retaining  their  language,  their  customs,  and 
their  religion.  And  here  is  still  told  the  tale  of 
the  lad  who  led  the  French  troops  to  Grand  Pr^. 


Kill 


I'll 

■  *.    I 


:i 


i:| 


u 


I*'! 


;■ ". !  t    '    '    ' 


ii 


XI. 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 

SEPTEMBER,  1744. 
"  Read  that  again,  Andrew  Bourge,  and 
read  it  in  French,"  said  one  of  a  group  of  hardy- 
looking,  excited  men  gathered  around  a  large 
willow-tree  in  the  front  yard  of  a  wayside  inn, 
in  the  Acadian  village  of  Minas. 

The  man  addressed,  equipped  for  a  journey, 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  inn.  He  was  the 
Notary  of  Minas,  and  a  man  of  importance  in 
the  country.  Hitching  the  bridle  of  his  horse 
to  a  post  of  the  low,  shed-like  stoop  that  fronted 
the  inn,  he  walked  directly  up  to  the  old  tree, 
and  read,  in  a  strong  military  tone  of  voice,  the 
Royal  Proclamation  posted  upon  it  that  morn- 
ing by  a  courier  from  Port  Royal. 

266 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS.       267 

*'  We  do  hereby  promise^  with  the  advice  and  con- 
sent of  His  Majesty's  Council^  a  reward  of  One 
Hundred  Pounds  for  every  male  Indian  above  the 
age  of  sixteen ;  for  a  scalp  of  such  male  Indian^ 
Eighty  Pounds  ;  for  every  Indian  woman  or  child, 
dead  or  alive,  Fifty  Pounds,     God  save  the  King  " 

When  he  had  ceased  reading  the  men  talked 
earnestly  among  themselves,  but  no  one  noticed 
the  notary,  and  he  walked  back  to  the  inn. 

As  he  stepped  upon  the  stoop  he  was  met  by 
several  young  girls  who  had  been  attracted  from 
their  homes  near  by,  to  read  the  notice  on  the 
tree ;  and  one  of  them  immediately  addressed 
him  with  — 

"  Grandsire,  will  our  people  kill  the  Indians 
for  the  reward  ? " 

"  Why  not,  daughter  ? "  asked  the  notary. 

"  Because  it  is  cruel,  and  the  Indians  are  our 
friends,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Madrine,"  said  the  notary,  with  a  tinge  of 
sadness  in  his  voice,  "you  are  a  child,  and  do 
not  understand  that  many  things  are  cruel  which 


■  t 

II 

|lf!tl 

1 

M 

1 

i.  '  w 

!■■■  "t 

t 

1 

:  ':^t:    ' 

! 

i  ' 

1 

I; 


h 

II 

n 

i 

'  ■  1 

PTT 


268   THE  MESSENGER  MAIDEN  OF  MINAS. 


ii^i 


must  of  necessity  be  done.  The  red  rascals  are 
themselves  cruel,  and  not  trustworthy ;  it  was 
only  last  Saturday  night  that  they  killed  several 
people  at  Port  Royal." 

"  Grandsire,"  persisted  the  maiden,  "  the  peo- 
ple they  killed  were  English.  I  do  not  like  the 
English,  and  they  do  not  like  us.  They  are 
hard  masters ;  they  rid  themselves  of  human 
beings  as  they  would  of  wolves.  Our  people 
had  better  trust  to  the  friendship  of  the  Indians 
than  the  English." 

"  Prut,  daughter !  you  do  not  talk  wisely," 
said  the  notary.  "  The  English  have  good 
reason  to  revenge  themselves  on  these  savug^es, 
and  we  Acadians  may  as  well  take  a  hand  in 
the  hunt,  when  so  much  money  is  to  be  gained 
by  obeying  the  King's  proclamation.  Many  a 
house  in  Grand  Pr^  and  Minas  will  be  furnished 
with  the  price  of  scalps  before  the  snow  flies ; 
your  own  goodly  built  little  farmhouse,  Madrine, 
may  be  furnished  for  your  wedding  day  much 
sooner  than   you  expect  by  a   lucky  catch  or 


^ 


I 


THE   MESSENGER    MAIDEN    OF    MINAS.        269 


Steady  shot.  Baptiste  Doucet  is  a  brave  lad, 
and  has  the  best  long-range  musket  in  the 
country." 

The  blood  came  to  the  cheeks  of  the  maiden, 
and  her  lips  curled,  as  she  said,  "  It  is  not  brave 
to  kill  women  and  children,  and  I  would  not  go 
into  my  house  nor  to  him,  if  one  shilling  paid 
for  such  murders  helped  to  furnish  it  or  went 
into  his  pocket." 

Deep  in  his  heart  the  old  notary  evidently 
liked  the  spirit  evinced  by  his  granddaughter, 
for  he  said  not  a  word  in  reply  to  this  indignant 
protest,  but  stooped  and  kissed  the  cheek  that 
had  crimsoned  at  mention  of  her  lover's  name, 
and  mounting  his  horse  was  soon  out  of  sight 
on  the  long  dangerous  road  that  led  to  Port 
Royal.  Few  men  at  that  time  could  have 
made  the  journey  in  safety.  But  this  man 
was  both  trusted  and  feared,  and  thus  fortified, 
he  rode  fearlessly  into  the  dark  forest  and  com- 
ing night. 

Madrine    Bourge   left  her  companions  and 


i  t 

1:1 

^ilp 

i    ' 

•I 

■      ^% 

:    1 1 

wr 


I 


K  !! 


•I 


J'  i " . 
If.;;  , 


ri 


i 


u  ^   ■   ■ 

'j 

:^ 

1  Ir' 

11 

■ 

1 

270        THE    MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF    MINAS. 

walked  rapidly  and  alone  to  her  home.     She 

was  mistress   there.      Her  mother  had    been 

some  years  dead,  and  she  was  the  only  child. 
It  was  near  sunset.     The  weather  was  raw 

and  chilly,  and  she  built  a  fire  of  dry  logs  on 
the  broad  fireplace.  As  its  mellow  blaze  curled 
round  the  logs  and  roared  up  the  wide  chimney, 
the  ruddy  light  fell  full  upon  her  form  and  face, 
and  the  last  hot  words  spoken  at  the  inn  re- 
peated themselves  in  every  lineament. 

As  she  stood  with  her  bare  brown  arms  on  the 
top  of  a  straight-backed  kitchen  chair,  the  mel- 
low light  of  the  fire  flushing  her  sharp-lined  ex- 
pressive face,  she  was  beautiful,  this  Acadian 
maiden  of  eighteen  years,  but  not  with  the 
beauty  of  culture  ;  it  was  the  beauty  of  the 
shapely,  clean-limbed  forest  tree  and  the  curv- 
ing, foaming  mountain  stream.  Hers  was  a 
wild  beauty  and  there  was  reason  for  it.  When 
but  five  years  old,  she  had  been  captured  by  the 
Micmac  Indians,  and  had  lived  with  them  till 
she  was  fifteen. 


V    III 


THE   MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF   MINAS.        271 


m 


Her  thoughts  were  now  of  that  free  life  and 
wild  people,  and  the  crackling  camp-fire  she  had 
built  was  a  medium  of  communication  with  that 
past  existence. 

But  her  reverie  was  short,  for  her  father  soon 
came  into  the  house  with  Baptiste  Doucet,  her 
betrothed  husband.  Receiving  them  with  her 
accustomed  greeting,  she  set  about  her  house- 
hold duties,  and  the  supper  was  soon  ready. 

At  the  table  neither  of  the  men  spoke  of  the 
proclamation  on  the  tree.  Madrine  was  sur- 
prised at  this,  and  during  the  evening  tried  to 
get  some  opportunity  to  speak  with  Baptiste 
alone,  that  she  might  tell  him  of  the  talk  with 
the  notary.  But  the  men  seemed  more  than 
usually  occupied  with  business  affairs,  and  Bap- 
tiste went  away  much  earlier  than  was  his  cus- 
tom on  such  visits. 

Madrine  and  her  father  separated  for  the 
night  without  a  word  upon  the  subject,  but  she 
thought  long  and  earnestly  of  the  cruelty  to  be 
practiced  upon  her  people,  who  had  been  to  her 


IM« 


Lt 


ill' 
y 

I, 
I- 

,5! 

i 


m 


272        THE   MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF    MINAS. 

like  her  own  for  so  many  years,  and  resolved 
to  tell  her  feelings  freely  to  Baptiste  on  the 
morrow. 

Early  in  the  morning  she  was  wakened  by  her 
father,  who  told  her  he  was  going  to  Pisiquid 
on  business  that  would  keep  him  from  home 
three  days.  Madrine  asked  no  questions,  for 
he  often  had  business  away  from  home.  Nor 
was  she  surprised  when  he  took  from  its  place  on 
the  deer-horns  over  the  door  the  long-barrelled 
French  musket,  and  drawing  out  the  partridge 
charge,  loaded  it  with  a  bullet  and  filled  the 
great  powder  horn  with  powder,  and  a  leather 
pouch  with  bullets.  This  was  the  season  for 
shooting  moose  and  deer,  and  she  knew  there 
were  many  miles  of  unbroken  forest  on  his  pro- 
posed journey. 

The  preparations  completed,  Jean  Bourge 
bade  his  daughter  be  mindful  of  the  house  and 
herself,  and  kissing  her,  mounted  his  strong 
horse  and  rode  rapidly  away,  Madrine  watching 
him  until  he  passed  out  of  sight  beyond  the  wil- 


•*  1 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN    OF    MINAS.        273 

low-trees  that  lined  the  roadway  through  the 
village. 

Expecting  Baptiste  would  be  in  during  the 
forenoon,  she  went  cheerfully  about  her  work. 
Noon  came,  and  he  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Alarmed  at  this,  she  inquired  of  the  neighbors, 
and  learned  that  a  party  of  horsemen  from  Port 
Royal  had  gone  through  the  village  early  in  the 
morning,  on  their  way  to  surprise  and  kill  the 
Indians  at  Chignecto,  and  that  her  father  and 
Baptiste  had  joined  them. 

It  was  at  this  settlement,  and  with  these  peo- 
ple she  had  lived  the  three  last  years  of  her  In- 
dian life,  and  the  thought  that  they  were  to  be 
killed  by  her  own  father  and  betrothed  husband, 
was  hard  to  endure.  With  a  sad  indignant 
heart  she  shut  herself  in  the  house,  and  sat 
down  by  the  flax  wheel  in  front  of  the  window 
that  faced  the  Basin  of  Minas,  a  broad  bay  into 
which  the  high  tides  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy  flow 
with  great  rapidity. 

The  house  was  near  the  shore,  and  directly 


Wll*l 


11 '' 


l:'l 


w 


274       THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 


I       I 


across  to  the  northward  stood  the  Indian  village, 
twenty  miles  distant  by  water,  but  by  land  a  two 
days'  journey.  She  sat  long  at  the  window, 
looking  out  on  the  blae  waters  of  the  Basin,  and 
across  it  to  the  Indian  village. 

The  tide  was  flowing  majestically  in  over  the 
broad  flats,  and  creeping  noiselessly  up  the  per- 
pendicular banks  of  its  more  rugged  shores.  It 
was  three  o'clock.  All  day  the  sun  had  shone 
with  the  brightness  of  summer,  and  over  the 
surface  of  the  water  there  rose  an  invisible  mist, 
through  which,  in  the  clear,  dry  autumnal  atmos- 
phere, the  opposite  shore  of  the  Basin  and  the 
high  bluflF  of  Blomidon  appeared  much  nearer 
than  they  really  were. 

Matlrine's  practiced  eye  saw  the  high  lands 
of  the  Indian  village  and  the  gray  smoke  curling 
up  from  the  wigwam  fires.  How  far  away  it 
was  she  did  not  know,  but  as  she  lojked  long 
upon  it  and  thought  of  what  another  day  would 
bring  to  its  unsuspecting  inhabitants,  she  knew 
it  never  had  seemed  half  so  near  as  now.    A 


I    i!' 


THE   MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF   MINAS.        275 

shadow  came  over  her  face  as  she  rose  from  the 
window,  and  a  look  of  determination  in  her 
eyes. 

On  the  margin  of  the  shore  near  the  house 
was  a  little  sheltered  cove,  and  under  a  rough 
shed  lay  a  small  bark  canoe  given  her  by  her 
father,  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  indulge  in 
the  occupation  and  pastime  of  the  wild,  free  life 
of  her  childhood.  She  was  an  expert  paddler, 
and  was  often  seen  on  the  waters  of  the  beauti- 
ful Gaspereaux,  or  far  out  on  the  blue  Basin. 

Hastily  walking  to  this  cove,  she  turned  over 
the  canoe,  carefully  examined  the  seams  on  the 
b.^ttom  and  sides,  rubbed  the  whole  surface  of 
the  bottom  with  a  piece  of  tallow,  and  leaving 
it  in  that  position,  returned  to  the  house.  She 
was  alone  and  unquestioned,  and  no  one  knew 
why  she  did  this.  Nor  did  any  one  know  why 
the  cows  were  milked  and  the  farm  stock  fed 
and  housed  an  hour  earlier  than  usual.  Nor 
why  she  raked  the  fire  just  at  sunset,  let  down 
the  white  curtain  to  her  little  sleeping  room, 


«! 


iiii 


f^ 


'I      .  i 


276        THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 

and  walked  slowly  to  the  shore  where  the  canoe 
lay. 

The  tide  was  at  the  flood  and  much  higher 
than  usual.  This  Madrine  knew  to  be  the  sign 
of  an  approaching  storm,  and  that  the  ebbing  of 
the  tide  would  be  swifter  on  account  of  it. 
Seizing  the  canoe  as  if  it  were  a  play  boat,  she 
launched  it  at  once,  and  seating  herself  on  the 
ash  crossbar,  paddled  leisurely  out  on  the  placid 
water  that  now  lapped  the  land  far  above  its 
highest  mark  and  lay  lazily  in  the  bed  01  ■):'t 
wide  wood-embowered  Basin,  waiting  the  mys- 
terious impulse  that  presently  should  set  it  flow- 
ing like  a  mighty  river  out  into  its  ocean 
reservoir. 

To  observers  from  the  land  the  canoe  and  its 
occupant  were  listless  of  purpose  as  the  waiting 
water.  Far  out  from  the  shore  she  floated,  re- 
gardless of  the  deepening  shadows  falling  along 
the  high  headlands  and  darkening  the  little  bays 
and  creeping  slowly  out  over  the  broad  water. 
Darker  and  Harker,  till  the  venturesome  craft 


THE    MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF    MINAS. 


277 


could  no  longer  be  seen  from  the  shore,  and  the 
mysterious  impulse  had  been  communicated  to 
the  water,  slowly  moving,  like  a  great  glacier, 
onward  to  the  sea. 

The  paddle  turned  the  bow  of  the  canoe  in 
the  direction  of  the  tide,  and  the  paddler  looked 
at  the  shadowy  land  behind,  unwound  from  her 
head  a  silk  scarf  and  tied  it  tightly  about  her 
loins,  fixed  her  face  upon  the  high  hills  of  the 
opposite  shore,  laid  down  the  paddle  she  had 
been  using,  and  taking  a  broader-bladed  one 
from  its  rack  behind  her,  plied  it  with  strong, 
steady  strokes. 

On  over  the  tide  and  with  the  tide  the  lithe- 
some bark  sped  like  a  thing  of  life.  Two  hours 
of  unslackened  speed,  and  the  moon  rose,  large 
and  red,  like  the  morning  sun.  Laying  down 
the  paddle,  Madrine  looked  at  the  broad  high- 
way of  rosy  shimmering  light  it  threw  along  tlic 
water,  back  upon  the  dim  outline  of  the  Inivl 
she  had  left,  now  dotted  with  lights  from  farm- 
house windows,  listened  to  the  echo  of  the  roar 


'I  m 


ik  <n|!| 


!  t 


ffil 


*: 


pp"f 


I  i 


m 

ml 


•If 


m 

m 


I  I 


<    ■    '!  ■ 


11  I 


!    . 

,1  -     . 

1                ,    ■ 

i    •    \ 
\    '  1 

iLli. 

278        THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 

of  the  distant  surf,  and  felt  the  presage  of  the 
coming  storm.  Then  taking  the  paddle  she  had 
laid  aside  for  the  larger  one,  she  propelled  the 
little  craft  over  the  dim  water  till  under  the 
shadow  of  Blomidon  she  rested  again. 

The  moon  had  been  shadowed  by  gray  belts 
of  mist  near  the  horizon,  aud  now  hid  itself  be- 
hind a  heavy  bank  of  black  clouds.  Darkness 
settled  over  the  water.  Beyond  the  cliff  and  in 
the  channel,  the  distant  roar  of  the  troubled  sea 
was  preluding  the  coming  storm.  Over  the  bow 
of  the  canoe,  in  the  distance,  appeared  white- 
crested  billows  and  roaring,  seething  water 
caused  by  the  tide  from  down  the  Basin  and  the 
tide  from  up  the  Basin,  meeting,  like  the  sides 
of  a  wedge  and  forming  into  one  current  that 
rushed  out  by  the  ragged  rocks  of  Blomidon, 
foaming  and  eddying  like  a  great  river  escaping 
from  a  cataract. 

Madrine  saw  this  raging  torrent,  and  knew 
from  old  associations  its  dangerous  character. 
But  to-day  she  had  not  thought  of  it,  and  as  she 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF    MINAS.        279 


I 


now  looked  across  its  crested  waves,  the  land 
she  ]\ad  been  working  so  hard  to  gain,  seemed 
in  the  darkness  farther  away  than  when  she 
had  gazed  on  it  through  the  deceptive  mist  of 
the  bright  autumn  afternoon  and  formed  the 
rash  purpose  of  reaching  it  in  her  frail  canoe. 

This,  and  the  darkness  and  fatigue,  dispirited 
her,  and  yielding  to  sudden  despair,  she  sank 
into  the  bottom  of  the  canoe  and  allowed  it  to 
drift  with  the  tide. 

Presently  the  moon  rose  so  far  above  the 
bank  of  cloud  as  to  throw  its  light  full  upon 
the  high  top  of  Blomidon,  while  the  sides  of  the 
mountain,  and   the  water,  looked   in   contrast. 

Cloud-capped  and  misty,  the  bluff  had  towered 
above  her  and  be)  ond  her  sight ;  and  now  as 
the  silver  light  bathed  it,  making  it  appear  to 
rise  almost  to  the  sky,  Madrine  sought  to  ex- 
plain the  mysterious  phenomenon.  Suddenly 
to  her  aid  came  the  reccllection  that  this  moun- 
tain peak  of  Blomidon,  now  so  flushed  with 
strange  light,  was  the  supposed  dwelling  place 


ir 


WM 


■}'■'■  t 


11 


M' 


280        THE    MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF    MINAS. 

of  the  God  Glooscap,  the  great  Good  Father  of 
the  Micmacs,  reverenced  and  feared  by  them, 
and  called  on  in  times  of  necessity  and  peril. 

Her  despairing  helplessness,  the  wonderful 
light  on  the  sacred  mountain,  and  the  faith  of 
her  childhood  united  to  produce  the  spirituality 
of  the  untaught ;  and  springing  to  her  feet  at 
the  risk  of  upsetting  the  tottering  canoe,  she 
loosened  her  long  black  hair,  and  throwing  it  in 
wild  confusion  over  her  shoulders,  stretched  her 
hands  imploringly  out  toward  the  beautiful  light 
and  in  language  she  had  not  used  for  years, 
cried  to  the  Great  Spirit  to  rescue,  and  send  her 
safely  across  the  foaming  current  to  the  land 
beyond. 

Just  then  the  moon  rose  above  the  cloud  and 
threw  its  undiminished  light  full  upon  the  water 
and  the  surrounding  land  ;  at  the  same  time  the 
light  on  the  mountain-top  disappeared,  and 
seemed  to  fall  upon  the  hills  of  the  Indian 
village  on  the  opposite  shore. 

Inspired  by  this  omen,  refreshed  by  the  short 


if 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 


281 


rest,  and  strengthened  perhaps  by  faith  in  the 
efficacy  of  that  piteous  prayer  she  cried  in  wild 
words  to  an  imaginary  Deity,  she  seized  again 
the  broad-bladed  paddle,  an  hour  before  relin- 
quished for  want  of  strength  to  wield,  and  drew 
it  through  the  water  with  the  skill  of  an  Indian 
brave.  The  last  three  years  of  her  life  were 
forgotten  —  she  sat  in  the  bark  canoe,  with 
streaming  hair,  an  Indian  maiden,  inspired  by 
Indian  faith  ;  and  with  savage  strength  and  cool 
bravery,  paddled  into  the  roaring  current  before 
her,  and  in  an  hour  more  was  safely  landed  near 
the  village  of  her  Indian  friends. 

The  encampment  lay  some  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant,  and  primeval  forest  intervened.  Ma- 
drine  knew  that  many  paths  led  to  it  from  differ- 
ent directions,  and  fearlessly  entering  the  dense 
wood,  instinctively  threaded  a  right  one  to  the 
little  village. 

Hurriedly  she  made  her  way  to  the  tall  wig- 
wam of  the  chief.  He  had  been  kind  to  her  in 
childhood,  and  his  daughter  had  been  her  play 


:! 


I  i 


I    ,!*' 


!■ 


1^'  .   i  * 


i  .■ 


282       THE    MESSENGER    MAIDEN   OF    MINAS. 

mate.  Pushing  aside  the  dried  deerskin  that 
sheltered  the  doorway,  she  entered,  and  sat 
down  on  a  mat  at  the  feet  of  the  chief.  Several 
young  braves  were  clustered  about  the  fire  that 
burned  in  the  center  of  the  camp.  Madrine 
glided  past  them  so  quickly  that  they  did  not 
see  her  till  she  sat  among  them.  The  chief 
immediately  recognized  her,  and  in  tokens  she 
well  knew,  bade  her  a  kindly  welcome. 

At  once  she  told  him  of  the  proclamation  on 
the  tree,  and  of  the  party  of  men  from  Port 
Royal  on  their  way  to  surprise  and  kill  his  peo- 
ple, and  urged  him  to  flee  to  some  place  of 
safety. 

As  she  talked  dark  shadows  came  over  the 
faces  of  the  braves.  The  old  chief  laid  down 
the  pipe  he  had  been  smoking,  and  taking  an 
arrow  from  the  quiver  behind  him,  placed  it  on 
the  fire  and  watched  it  burn,  saying  to  Madrine  : 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl.  You  shall  stay  with 
us,  and  we  will  kill  the  pale-faced  cowards  who 
come  to  scalp  women  and  children  for  money." 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN    OF    MINAS.       283 

This  terrified  the  girl.  She  had  not  intended 
to  let  them  know  that  her  father  and  lover  were 
of  the  party,  but  now  they  must  be  told. 

Pleadingly  she  laid  her  trembling  hands  at 
the  feet  of  the  chief,  telling  him  that  her  father 
was  with  these  men,  how  she  loved  him,  and  of 
his  probable  death  if  they  had  an  encounter ;  of 
a  brave  young  man  who  would  be  her  husband 
when  the  next  moon  had  hung  three  nights  in 
the  sky,  and  that  he  too  was  with  the  party ;  that 
they  were  not  cowards,  but  brave  and  good  ;  and 
that  she  could  not  stay  with  him,  but  must  be 
back  to  her  home  before  the  morning  light,  that 
her  father  might  never  know  she  had  warned 
them. 

The  shadow  on  the  faces  of  the  braves  dark- 
ened into  a  scowl,  and  the  chief  made  no  sign, 
but  looked,  stern  and  stony,  into  the  fire. 

Alarmed  at  this,  she  spoke  of  the  wonderful 
light  on  the  top  of  Blomidon  when  all  over  the 
land  and  water  it  was  dark;  how  she  prayed  to 
the  Great  Spirit  Giooscap,  and  how  the  moon 


ii  ; 


l> 


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284      THE    MESSENGER    MAIDEN    OF    MINAS. 

came  oui  from  the  black  clouds  and  shone 
brightly  over  the  water,  while  the  light  left  the 
mountain  and  rested  on  the  trees  over  the  en- 
campment ;  how  her  strength  came  back,  and 
how  the  canoe  had  sped  like  an  arrow  over  the 
dangerous  waters. 

The  scowl  left  the  faces  of  the  braves  and 
the  stony  look  of  the  chief  changed  to  a  quiet 
light  as  he  watched  the  arrow  burn  to  ashes. 
Then  rising  to  his  feet  he  laid  his  great  copper- 
colored  hand  gently  on  her  head,  and  gravely 
said  : 

"  Brave  daughter  of  the  pale-faced  cowards, 
you  shall  go  to  your  father  and  your  husband. 
The  Great  Spirit  wills  it.  And  Pedovsaghtigh's 
braves  will  spare  the  white-faced  wolves  because 
you  ask  it." 

Turning  to  the  women,  he  bade  them  welcome 
the  maiden  and  give  her  food,  then  he  silently 
strode  out  into  the  night,  followed  by  his  braves. 

The  women  of  the  chief's  family  were  warm 
in  their  welcome,  but  Madrine  was  frightened 


THE    MESSENGER    MAIDEN    OF    MINAS.       285 


'.hm 


at  her  situation,  despite  the  kindness  shown,  and 
she  wondered  where  the  chief  had  gone  and 
what  he  would  do. 

After  some  time  of  anxious  waiting  he  returned 
alone,  and  motioned  her  to  accompany  him. 
With  an  Indian  farewell  to  the  women,  she 
stepped  out  into  the  dark  forest  and  wonder- 
ingly  followed  the  stealthy  strong  steps  of  her 
guide,  whose  eagle  feathers  seemed  to  mingle 
with  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

By  a  shorter  trail  than  she  had  come  they 
reached  the  water,  but  not  at  the  cove  where 
she  had  landed.  Her  own  canoe  was  not  there, 
but  a  large,  strong  one  sat  on  the  beach,  with  a 
pair  of  deer  horns  fixed  to  the  bow,  and  deer- 
skin spread  in  the  bottom. 

Madrine  had  seen  this  canoe  before,  and 
knew  it  belonged  to  the  chief  and  was  used 
only  on  great  occasions.  She  had  been  told 
that  the  horns  on  the  bow  were  taken  from 
the  leader  of  a  herd  of  deer  that  appeared  sud- 
denly on  the  top  of  Blomidon  at  a  time  whei> 


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286      THE  MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 

long  famine  had  wasted  the  people,  and  many 
of  the  deer  were  killed  for  food  and  the  horns 
were  sacred. 

Two  men  stood  near  the  canoe.  They  were 
mighty  hunters  and  warriors,  and  wore  eagle 
feathers  like  the  chief.  As  she  came  near 
them  each  in  turn  laid  his  hand  on  the  flowing 
hair  and  said  :  **  You  are  welcome,  brave  child 
of  the  paleface." 

Madrine  did  not  ask  for  her  canoe,  for  she 
knew  the  tiny  boat  could  not  live  in  the  terrible 
storm  fast  gathering  in  the  cloud-wrapped  sky. 
The  chief  lifted  her  into  the  strong  canoe  and 
bade  her  sit  low  on  the  deerskins  and  keep  very 
still.  The  men  took  their  places  in  each  end, 
signed  to  the  chief,  struck  the  strong  peddles 
into  the  water,  and  the  light  craft  sped  over  the 
dark  surface,  leaving  a  long  line  of  white-fringed 
eddying  holes  behind. 

On  with  steady  speed  went  the  canoe  till  the 
shadow  of  Blomidon  fell  upon  it.  Then  the  in- 
trepid men  drew  in  the  paddles,  lifted  their 


i!  ■      I: 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF    MINAS.      287 

bronzed  faces  supplicatingly  to  the  sacred  peak 
and  rested.  Then  again  with  the  energy  of  en- 
gines of  steel  they  plied  the  tough  paddles.  The 
rapid  tide  and  hurrying  wind  were  with  them  and 
the  canoe  rushed  like  a  terrified  thing  for  the 
distant  shore,  but  the  storm  was  more  rapid  in 
its  speed  and  the  dark  green  foam-crested  bil- 
lows rolled  and  surged  on  after  it  like  angry 
pursuers.  An  hour  and  more  of  this  speed  and 
the  men  felt  the  canoe  tremble  and  saw  a  broad 
belt  of  foam  on  either  side,  then  bent  to  their 
work  with  the  might  of  such  men  in  a  struggle 
for  life.  The  ash  paddles  bent  like  wands  and 
the  storm-beset  craft  leaped  out  of  the  belt  of 
foam  and  shot  ahead  of  the  storm.  The  land 
was  almost  reached  when  again  the  canoe  trem- 
bled, and  the  belt  of  foam  was  far  ahead  and 
wide.  The  waves  had  won  the  race.  Still  the 
iron-nerved  men  drew  the  paddles  through  the 
seething  water  with  unabated  strength,  and  in 
the  morning  light  soon  saw  the  shore  white  with 
the  surf  of  the  waves  that  had  outsped  them. 


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288       THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF   MINAS. 

The  Indians  knew  each  landing  and  steered 
for  the  nearest,  but  the  curling  surf-waves 
swamped  their  frail  bark  and  flung  them  into 
the  foaming  tide.  Madrine  was  rescued  by  the 
brave  men  and  carried  safely  to  the  land.  The 
Indians  could  not  return  until  the  storm  was 
over.  This  the  girl  knew,  but  fearing  the  return 
of  her  father,  dared  not  offer  them  shelter,  so 
they  carried  the  canoe  up  the  shore  to  where 
the  woods  lined  the  water,  and  under  its  cover 
remained  in  safety  till  the  outgoing  tide  of  the 
next  night.  Entering  the  house  Madrine  found 
a  bed  of  bright  coals  under  the  raked  ashes, 
and  soon  had  a  glowing  fire.  Utterly  exhausted 
she  laid  down  on  the  broad  wooden  settee  in  front 
of  the  fire  and  slept  soundly  for  many  hours. 

The  evening  of  the  next  day  her  father  returned. 
He  did  not  speak  to  her  of  where  he  had  been; 
but  Baptiste  told  her  of  their  long  fruitless 
journey,  how  they  found  the  encampment  de- 
serted and  not  even  a  fur  of  any  value  left  to 
pay  them  for  all  their  trouble. 


■ 


'  t!'    m" 


THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OF    MINAS.       289 

Many  were  the  conjectures  as  to  how  the 
Indians  could  have  known  of  the  intended  at- 
tack, but  no  one  suspected  Madrine.  The 
storm  and  high  tides  had  destroyed  and  carried 
off  much  property,  and  this  accounted  for  the 
loss  of  her  canoe. 

The  old  moon  quickly  wore  away,  and  all  else 
was  forgotten  in  the  preparations  for  the  coming 
wedding.  All  the  village  was  interested,  each 
one  from  his  own  stores,  according  to  the  usual 
custom,  giving  a  portion  to  provide  the  house- 
hold with  food  for  a  twelvemonth.  No  one 
thought  of  Indians  on  the  wedding  day,  and 
great  was  the  surprise  when  the  gay  procession 
wound  its  way  from  the  parish  church  to  the 
new  house  on  the  hill,  to  see  on  the  steps  in 
front  of  the  door,  Madrine's  old  canoe,  newly 
ornamented  and  filled  with  valuable  furs  and 
useful  articles  of  bark  and  wicker-work,  with 
only  the  Micmac  totem  on  the  bow  to  show 
whence  it  came. 

Why  the  Indians  should,  at  such  a  time,  send 


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290        THE   MESSENGER   MAIDEN   OP    MINAS. 

presents  of  such  value,  and  how  they  could  have 
found  the  missing  canoe  and  known  of  the 
wedding,  no  one  knew  but  Madrine,  and  she 
kept  silent. 

Years  after,  when  peace  was  concluded  with 
the  Indians  and  the  old  friendly  relations  re- 
newed between  them  and  the  Acadians,  stand- 
ing at  her  father's  door  one  evening,  with  the 
blue  waters  of  the  Basin  before  her,  her  husband 
beside  her,  her  father  within  the  porch,  she  told 
it;  all  the  years  that  had  intervened,  and  the 
long  silence  she  had  kept,  making  it  seem  al- 
most as  much  of  a  wonder  to  herself  as  to  the 
two  men,  who  for  the  first  time  knew  why  the 
encampment  was  empty  and  why  the  canoe  and 
its  contents  had  been  sent  as  a  wedding  gift. 


mmmmmmm 


XII. 


THE   LIGHT  ON   BLACK    LEDGE. 


1  nh-  ■•l(L- 

'  ri.'i 


ON  the  Nova  Scotia  side  of  the  historic  Bay 
of  Fundy,  at  a  place  now  called  Marga- 
retville,  a  ledge  of  ragged  rocks,  projecting  like 
a  great  spur  from  the  mountain  side,  stretches, 
black  and  jagged  and  cruel,  three  hundred 
yards  or  more  into  the  waters  of  the  blue  Bay. 
Over  the  ragged  ledge  the  long  an  J  lofty  bil- 
lows thunder  to  the  very  verge  of  the  basaltic 
columns  which  form  the  sea  wall.  Far  up  and 
down  the  coast  is  a  wide  expanse  of  crag-lined 
beach,  left  bare  by  an  ebb  tide  of  sixty  feet. 
On  one  side  spreads  the  wide  water  of  the 
great  Bay,  on  the  other  the  densely  wooded 
mountain  with  its  evergreen  foliage. 

In  the  month  of   May,  1780,  the  fishermen 
from  the  valley,  who  had  for  many  years  used 

291 


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292 


THE   LIGHT  ON    BLACK    LEDGE. 


this  wild  spot  for  a  fishing  station,  found  on  the 
high  bluff  not  far  from  the  steep  cliff  overhang- 
ing the  beach  a  small  cabin-like  house,  built 
from  the  planks  and  timbers  of  wrecked  vessels 
that  had  met  their  fate  upon  the  jagged  Ledge. 

There  was  no  other  dwelling  of  man  within 
many  miles  on  this  wild  craggy  coast,  and  no 
road  leading  to  the  settlements  down  the 
mountain  or  in  the  valley  beyond 

The  house  was  occupied  and,  as  far  as 
squatter's  claim  could  make  it,  owned  by  a 
large  strong-looking  man  who  said  his  name 
was  Peter  Barnes.  Not  another  word  relating 
to  himself  would  he  vouchsafe  in  reply  to  the 
eager  questioning  of  the  suspicious  fishermen. 
That  he  did  not  get  there  from  landward  was 
very  certain,  and  that  he  did  not  come  there  to 
fish  was  equally  certain.  An  old  ship's  boat 
and  a  pair  of  well-worn  ash  oars  were  some  evi- 
dence that  the  sea  had  given  him  up  at  this 
place,  but  whence  and  how,  there  was  no  sign. 

His  clothes  were   such  as  the   settlements 


THE   LIGHT   ON    BLACK    LEDGE. 


293 


could  not  have  supplied.  Some  rude  farming 
tools  and  part  of  a  fishing  outfit  he  had,  but 
they  too  were  foreign.  From  sea  and  land  with 
these  implements  he  gathered  the  necessities  of 
life,  and  continued  the  only  resident  of  the  place 
until  the  spring  of  '85,  when  the  fishermen 
found  with  him  a  woman,  about  his  own  age, 
who  seemed  contented  with  the  wild  lonely  life, 
and  proved  as  silent  to  all  inquisitiveness  as 
the  man  whose  rude  home  she  shared.         • 

The  twenty-fourth  of  December,  1793,  saw 
the  strange  couple  still  living  in  the  little  plank 
house.  But  this  year  neither  sea  nor  land  had 
yielded  Peter  the  usual  returns  for  his  labor. 
Early  frosts  had  killed  his  small  crop  of  vege- 
tables, and  all  the  season  the  fish  had  failed  to 
make  their  annual  run  along  that  coast. 

Already  there  had  been  several  weeks  of 
hard  winter  weather ;  each  day  the  snow  had 
fallen  deeper  and  the  cold  become  more  intense, 
and  the  white  plain  spread  frozen  and  unbroken 
from  the  shore  to  the  wooded  mountain. 


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294 


THE   LIGHT   ON    BLACK   LEDGE. 


The  provisions  were  scanty  in  the  little 
plank  house  on  the  bluff.  A  wild  storm  had 
been  blowing  since  early  morning ;  the  fierce 
wind  from  the  Bay  drifted  the  fast-falling  snow 
against  the  hut,  and  the  blazing  drift-logs  in 
the  rough  stone  fireplace  hardly  kept  the  one 
small  room  comfortably  warm. 

At  the  end  of  the  bluff  there  was  a  narrow 
zigzag  path  leading  to  the  beach.  Down  this 
pathway  late  in  the  afternoon  the  man  picked 
his  dangerous  way  over  the  snow-covered  rocks 
to  the  shore  below  the  cliff.  It  was  ebb  tide, 
and  he  crept  far  out  on  Black  Ledge,  and 
searched  the  soaking  sand  and  the  dripping 
seaweed  for  mussels,  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  But 
the  rocks  and  the  sand  said  "  no ! "  and  he 
climbed  back  up  the  bluff,  and  facing  the  snow- 
laden  wind,  looked  out  over  the  white-capped 
waves.  Through  the  drifting  mist  his  practiced 
eye  caught  sight  of  a  sail.  Placing  himself  in  a 
favorable  position  for  observation,  he  stood  long 
and  sullenly,  his  gaze  upon  the  wind-swept  Bay. 


THE  LIGHT  ON  BLACK  LEDGE. 


^95 


At  last,  as  if  with  quick  purpose  impressed, 
he  turned  and  seemed  to  examine  with  interest 
the  long  ledge  of  black  rocks  and  the  fury  of 
the  storm  among  them.  Then  with  searching 
gaze  he  turned  to  a  clump  of  tall  storm-thickened 
firs  near  the  seaward  end  of  the  bluflF,  and  going 
near  them  looked  again  out  upon  the  Bay,  and 
down  upon  the  rough  rocks,  then  back  upon  his 
house  now  almost  buried  in  the  snow. 

The  cold  wind  pierced  him,  and  the  blinding 
snow  fell  thickly  about  him,  but  there  in  the 
bleakest  place  upon  the  coast  he  stood,  unmind- 
ful of  snow  or  cold.  It  was  almost  dark  when 
he  entered  his  house,  pale  and  sullen. 

"  Nothing  again  to-day !  "  said  the  woman. 

"  There's  a  vessel  out  on  the  Bay,  and  out  of 
her  reckoning,"  he  replied. 

"  Little  good  that  will  do  us,"  said  she. 

"  Perhaps  she  might  call  in,"  urged  the  man 
significantly. 

"  Why  would  a  vessel  stop  here  ? "  she  asked 
quickly. 


;J!! 


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m 


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296 


THE  LIGHT  ON  BLACK  LEDGE. 


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"  It  might  be  because  shf  ».ouldn't  get  by," 
said  the  man  sullenly,  as  he  hauled  out  of  a 
chest  two  old  ship's  lanterns  and  commenced 
cleaning  them. 

"  When  I  tell  you,  will  be  time  enough  for 
you  to  know  why,"  he  muttered,  in  answer  to 
her  look  of  astonishment,  and  in  tones  she  well 
knew  were  meant  to  cut  off  all  further  inquiry. 

Used  to  his  strange  conduct,  but  unaccus- 
tomed not  to  be  participator,  the  woman  won- 
dered at  his  action,  but  asked  no  questions,  and 
in  silence  the  man  continued  his  work.  When 
it  was  fairly  dark  he  lighted  both  the  lanterns, 
and  wrapping  them  in  an  old  coat  went  out 
into  the  storm  again,  and  direct  to  the  clump 
of  firs. 

One  of  the  lanterns  showed  a  red  light. 
This  one  he  took  from  the  wrapping,  and  climb- 
ing with  it  near  to  the  top  of  the  tallest  tree,  he 
fastened  it  securely  on  the  outer  end  of  a  branch 
facing  the  Bay.  The  wind  had  packed  the 
snow  into  the  stiff  foliage  until  the  tree  looked 


THE   LIGHT  ON    BLACK    LEDGE. 


297 


like  a  white  tower,  and  the  red  light  gleamed 
from  it  like  a  beacon. 

Descending,  he  took  the  other  lantern  to  a 
low  wall  of  rock  near  the  end  of  the  bluff  and 
placed  it  in  a  crevice,  so,  that  its  light  would 
show  in  the  direction  he  had  last  seen  the 
vessel. 

Thirty  miles  up  the  Bay,  on  the  same  coast, 
was  a  harl/'jr  where  siuall  vesFcls  could  get 
shelter  in  a  L)torm.  This  port  was  marked  by  a 
red  beacon-light  in  a  white  tower  at  the  entrance 
of  the  harbor,  and  near  it  was  a  small  house  in 
which  the  light-keeper  lived. 

Did  the  red  lantern  in  that  tall  snow-covered 
tree  appear  to  the  benighted  seamen  on  the 
deck  of  that  fated  vessel  like  this  beacon-light  ? 
Did  the  white  lantern  against  the  rock  look  like 
the  light  from  the  keeper's  window?  Did  the 
man  now  picking  his  cautious  way  through  the 
pure  white  snow  to  his  warm  dwelling  intend 
they  should  so  appear  ?  Was  there  no  thought 
in  his  heart  of  the  guiding  star  that  shed  its 


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THE   LIGHT  ON    BLACK    LEDGE. 


first  rays  on  earth  that  Christmas  eve  so  long 
ago,  and  thinking  of  it  did  his  purpose  waver, 
or  his  footsteps  falter  ?  O,  the  pity  of  it !  Red 
and  lambent  and  bright  the  lights  gleamed  from 
the  bluff ;  and  the  surf  below  broke  with  terrible 
roar  upon  the  cruel  rocks  of  Black  Ledge. 

Reaching  his  house  the  man  went  to  its  only 
window  to  close  the  board  shutter ;  but  the  wind 
had  piled  the  snow  thick  against  it  and  no  ray 
of  light  could  gleam  out  as  a  guide  to  shelter 
and  warmth. 

Satisfied  of  this,  he  went  inside.  The  woman 
asked  him  no  questions.  "  It  is  a  wild  night," 
she  shuddered,  as  the  wind  rushed  through  the 
open  doorway. 

Peter  Barnes  made  no  reply,  but  fastened  the 
strong  plank  door,  raked  the  coals  and  piled  on 
more  logs,  and  then  threw  himself  on  his  cot 
and  was  soon  asleep,  or  seemed  so  to  be  to  the 
woman  who  did  not  sleep. 

The  man's  strange  conduct  had  filled  her 
with  alarm,  and  the  fierce  storm  added  to  her 


THE  LIGHT  ON   BLACK   LEDGE. 


299 


fears  and  increased  her  suspicions.  She  watched 
the  blazing  fire,  and  listened  to  the  howling  winds 
and  the  loud  roar  of  the  waves;  and  not  many 
hours  passed  before  a  crash  and  cries  that  were 
not  of  the  storm  broke  upon  her  ears. 

Rousing  the  sleeping  man  she  unbarred 
the  plank  door.  As  she  peered  out  into  the 
fierce  blinding  storm  the  red  light  flamed  sud- 
denly up,  and  then  went  out.  As  instant  as  it 
faded  she  divined  its  reason,  and  needed  not  the 
further  evidence  of  the  man  who  roughly  pushed 
her  aside  and  closed  the  door  again,  but  not  with- 
out first  glancing  over  at  the  tall  fir-trees,  and 
listening  to  the  cries  that  rose  above  the  uproar 
on  the  shore  below. 

To  none  of  her  entreaties  would  he  yield,  and 
not  until  morning  would  he  rise  again  from  his 
cot,  or  suffer  her  to  unbar  the  door.  But  when 
the  sun  was  high,  he  roused  himself,  and  bid- 
ding her  put  on  some  thick  clothing  and  follow 
him,  he  started  through  the  drifted  snow  down 
the  narrow  pathway  to  the  foot  of  the  bluff. 


lil 

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300 


THE   LIGHT  ON   BLACK   LEDGE. 


What  they  found  there  need  scarcely  be  told. 
The  wreck  was  complete.  Upon  the  Ledge  was 
the  hull  of  a  vessel,  fast  breaking  up,  her  masts 
and  rigging  among  the  ragged  rocks,  and  much 
of  the  cargo  on  the  beach.  Cased  in  ice,  and 
above  high-water  mark,  were  the  bodies  of  five 
men ;  all  had  reached  the  land  in  safety,  and 
perished  for  want  of  the  shelter  the  plank  house 
could  have  afforded. 

The  vessel's  cargo  consisted  largely  of  pro- 
duce and  provisions,  and  to  secure  what  had 
come  ashore  before  the  next  flood  tide  occupied 
the  two  weary  hours.  Provisions  were  no  longer 
scanty  in  the  little  plank  house. 

The  next  day  the  bodies  were  stripped  by  thaw- 
ing the  clothes  with  hot  water.  They  were  then 
laid  within  a  gulch  near  the  outer  end  of  the 
Ledge,  at  low-water  mark,  and  covered  thick  with 
beach-stones  and  sand,  the  slow-moving  waves 
of  the  spent  storm  murmuring  a  fitting  requiem. 

The  fate  of  the  missing  vessel  was  not  known 
till  springs  when  a  party  of  fishermen  found  on 


ii 


THE   LIGHT  ON   BLACK   LEDGE. 


301 


the  beach  near  the  Ledge  a  portion  of  wreck 
containing  the  name  Saucy  Nancy. 

Peter  Barnes  was  questioned,  and  he  stated 
that  the  vessel  was  driven  on  the  Ledge  in  the 
night  in  a  great  storm,  that  he  had  tried  in 
vain  to  save  the  crew,  that  the  vessel  had 
broken  up  during  the  storm  and  that  most  of 
her  cargo  was  sunk  at  the  end  of  the  Ledge. 

Official  inquiry  established  only  the  fact  of 
the  shipwreck  and  the  death  of  the  whole  crew ; 
and  Justice  could  do  no  more  than  fasten  sus- 
picion upon  Peter  Barnes. 

As  the  years  passed,  settlers  from  the  valley 
and  fishermen  from  up  the  coast  moved  to  the 
place,  and  a  village  grew  up  under  the  shadow 
of  the  wooded  mountain.  The  place  was  known 
as  Peter's  Point,  in  recognition  of  its  first  in- 
habitant who  still  lived  in  the  plank  house. 

That  he  profited  by  the  terrible  shipwreck  the 
people  knew,  but  none  of  the  villagers  entered 
the  plank  house,  and  neither  Peter  nor  the  woman 
crossed  the  threshold  of  another's  door. 


! 


!« 


!■! 


302 


THE   LIGHT  ON    BLACK    LEDGE. 


It  was  now  1813,  and  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas again.  For  some  time  there  had  been  a 
road  over  the  mountain  to  the  valley,  and  Peter 
had  been  for  several  years  availing  himself  of 
this  road  to  get  supplies  from  the  stores  at  the 
settlements,  with  money  he  certainly  did  not  get 
from  anything  he  sold  or  did,  but  always  had 
when  he  wanted  to  buy. 

The  road  was  for  the  most  part  through  an 
unbroken  wilderness,  a  distance  of  about  six- 
teen miles  going  and  coming.  These  journeys 
were  always  commenced  at  a  time  of  day  that 
made  it  necessary  he  should  return  after  dark. 
An  old  leather  bag  that  looked  as  if  made  out 
of  a  knapsack  served  to  hold  his  supplies,  which 
consisted  always  of  rum,  tea  and  tobacco. 

On  this  day,  Peter  had  been  to  the  stores  in 
the  valley,  as  usual,  on  foot  and  alone.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  he  set  out  for  home,  and  by  dark 
began  to  climb  the  mountain. 

It  had  just  begun  to  snow  in  the  valley,  but 
for  several  hours  the  storm  had  been  fierce  on 


THE  LIGHT  ON   BLACK   LEDGE. 


303 


1 


the  mountain  and  over  the  Bay,  and  when  he 
reached  the  top  he  met  a  gale  of  wind  and  deep 
snow  as  trackless  as  a  desert.  But  Peter  was  a 
strong  man,  and  he  pushed  on,  facing  the  fierce 
wind,  making  slow  but  steady  progress,  and  by 
midnight  began  to  descend  to  the  village. 

Not  a  light  showed  in  any  of  the  houses. 
The  snow  grew  deeper  as  he  neared  the  Bay ; 
the  storm  of  "  '93  "  was  repeating  itself,  and  the 
wind  blew  furiously.  Anxiously  he  watched 
for  the  light  from  his  window.  He  did  not 
know  that,  as  on  that  other  Christmas  eve,  there 
was  a  great  bank  of  snow  against  the  window, 
and  that,  too,  all  unknown  to  the  woman  inside 
the  cabin.  Neither  did  he  know  that  an  hour 
before  one  of  the  fishermen  had  gone  on  an 
errand  of  mercy  to  the  house  of  a  poor  widow  a 
few  hundred  yards  up  the  shore,  and,  for  a  guide 
on  his  return,  had  placed  a  lantern  in  a  recess 
of  the  cliff  at  the  end  of  the  bluff. 

Suddenly  in  a  lull  of  the  storm  the  light  from 
this  lantern  gleamed  out.     It  was  not  in  the 


..'J 


IP 


«. 


!.S  ' 


It* 


lit 


304 


THE   LIGHT  ON    BLACK   LEDGE. 


:^' 


direction  of  his  hut,  but  the  air  was  thick  with 
onow  and  he  knew  there  was  not  another  house 
on  the  bluff;  so  he  gathered  his  exhausted 
strength  and  pushed  on  toward  it.  The  wind 
had  blown  the  snow  so  compactly  that  it  pro- 
jected over  the  cliff  and  hid  the  ragged  rim. 
The  whiteness  beyond  seemed  as  solid  as  that 
beneath  his  feet,  and  spread  wide  and  far  away, 
as  thick  in  the  air  as  on  the  ground.  On  he 
went — on  —  nearer  —  and  over  !  With  the  roar 
of  the  breakers  mingled  a  wild  cry  of  horror 
and  despair,  and  a  dull  heavy  thud ;  and  on  the 
black  rocks  below  the  bluff,  the  icing  spray  of 
the  dashing  waves  fell  upon  the  body  of  the  man 
who  twenty  years  before  had  lured  his  victims 
by  a  light  set  in  the  same  rocky  crevice. 

On  the  soaking  sand  just  above  the  jagged 
Ledge  the  villagers  found  him  Christmas  morn- 
ing, cased  in  ice,  as  he  had  found  the  bodies  of 
his  victims  on  that  other  Christmas  day. 

Retribution  I 

The  woman  lived  but  a  few  weeks,  refusing 


THE  LIGHT  ON  BLACK  LEDGE. 


305 


all  companionship,  and  remaining  in  the  little 
house.  When  death  seemed  near  she  told  to 
the  kind-hearted  women  who  attended  her  the 
story  of  the  shipwreck.  Then  fixing  her  gaze 
upon  the  blazing  logs  in  the  stone  fireplace,  she 
commenced  to  tell  of  herself,  beginning  with 
girlhood  which  was  bright  and  promising ;  but 
the  eyes  had  a  far-away  look,  a  smile  came  over 
the  cold  face  and  the  lips  ceased  to  move.  The 
listeners  bent  with  eager  ears,  but  the  tale  was 
not  told  ;  with  that  vision  the  spirit  fled. 

It  is  Peter's  Point  no  longer. 

Years  ago  the  name  of  the  village  was  changed 
to  Margaretville,  in  honor  of  the  wife  of  Judge 
Haliburton,  who  had  a  summer  residence  there. 
The  Black  Ledge  has  been  converted  into  a 
breakwater,  and  a  long  wharf  extends  to  its 
end,  where  there  is  a  light-house.  Of  the  plank 
hut  there  is  left  only  the  site.  Two  of  the  fir- 
trees  are  still  standing  on  the  bluff,  but  the 
name  of  Peter  Barnes  is  fading  out  of  the 
memory  of  men. 


HWIi 


(Mil 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


AN   INCIDENT  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


m 


THE  sixteenth  of  June,  1 746 !  At  the  mouth 
of  the  harbor  of  the  French  city  of  Louis- 
burg  lay  the  English  fleet ;  at  sunset  it  would 
enter  the  harbor,  at  sunrise  the  next  morning 
take  possession  of  the  city. 

Forty-nine  days  the  siege  had  lasted.  On 
the  first  day  the  elegant  buildings  of  the  dty 
were  entire,  the  white  lilies  of  France  blossomed 
in  the  beautiful  gardens,  the  stone  walls  sur- 
rounding the  city  on  all  sides  were  deemed 
impregnable,  and  the  blue  waters  of  the  harbor 
were  clear  of  any  fleet  save  the  French  ships. 
On  this  last  day  the  elegant  edifices  were  rid- 
dled with  English  balls,  the  white  lilies  were 

crushed  by  English  bombs,  breaches  were  made 

306 


AN   INCIDENT  OF  THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG.   307 


in  the  strong  walls  —  and  out  at  the  mouth  of 
the  blue  harbor  swung  the  English  fleet. 

Of  the  thirteen  hundred  Frenchmen,  three 
hundred  were  killed,  and  more  than  eighty  lay 
dying  in  the  spacious  Hospital  of  Saint  Jean  de 
Dieu.  While  every  other  building  in  the  city 
was  mutilated,  this  alone  remained  sound. 

Up  and  down  the  long  corridor  off  which 
were  the  private  apartments  of  the  hospital, 
paced  a  lad  perhaps  fifteen  years  of  age. 

Not  a  head  on  the  low  pallets  but  turned 
with  a  smile  as  the  boy  entered  the  main  ward. 
From  the  lowest  underling  to  the  presiding  sur- 
geon and  Abbd,  all  loved  and  reverenced  him. 
He  was  a  protdg^  and  ward  of  Duchambon's. 
On  his  flrst  arrival  from  France,  when  but  a 
child  of  siA  yi;ars,  the  Governor  had  placed  him 
entirely  under  the  care  of  Father  Linipero,  a 
learned  and  talented  Abbd  and  his  own  trusted 
adviser  and  friend.  The  Abbd  exerted  an  un- 
limited influence  over  the  boy,  and  the  boy's 
devotion  to  the  priest  was  wonderful. 


"ilf 


3o8  AN    INCIDENT   OF   THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


i; 


It: 


One  of  Father  Linipero's  daily  duties  was  to 
visit  the  inmates  of  the  hospital,  and  rarely  a 
day  when  the  boy  did  not  accompany  him.  All 
of  the  Father's  helpful,  soothing  ways  he  copied 
and  far  excelled ;  healing  almost  with  a  touch 
the  fevered  heads,  and  easing  paroxysms  with 
only  a  rubbing  of  his  hands. 

As  he  passed  through  the  ward  this  morning 
of  the  sixteenth,  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  smiles 
of  welcome.  Only  when  he  turned  from  the 
ward  to  the  corridor,  did  he  pause.  On  a  low 
temporary  cot  lay  an  old  Indian,  and  with  in- 
stant knowledge  the  boy  saw  he  was  dying. 
Placing  both  his  small  white  hands  on  the 
copper-colored  ones  of  the  old  man,  he  mur- 
mured the  prayer  he  had  heard  Father  Linipero 
repeat  so  often,  and  even  while  he  prayed  the 
struggle  came,  and  he  passed  on. 

Up  and  down  the  long  corridor  he  paced 
restlessly.  At  the  south  end  the  door  of  one  of 
the  private  apartments  was  ajar,  and  as  he 
passed  and  repassed  he  could  hear  the  murmur 


AN    INCIDENT  OF  THE  SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  309 


4:  ' 


of  voices.    At  length  the  door  was  opened,  and 
the  surgeon  came  out. 

"  Is  the  Father  ready  for  me  ? " 

The  surgeon  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  voice. 
"  Are  you  the  messenger  he  spoke  of  ? "  he 
asked.  "I  supposed  it  was  some  strange  lad. 
I  would  not  have  kept  you ;  go  in.  And  yet 
another  messenger  is  waiting  him,"  he  added 
as  he  turned  away,  "a  messenger  I  cannot 
waive." 

The  boy  pushed  the  door  open  and  reverently 
entered,  then  at  a  sign  from  the  Father,  closed 
it  tightly. 

The  gray  morning  light  was  dimmed  by  the 
glare  of  two  tall  candles  which,  set  in  silver 
sockets,  rested  on  the  floor  beside  the  low  bed 
and  threw  their  yellow  light  in  a  nimbus  around 
the  pallid  face  on  the  pillows.  The  head  of 
the  great  black  bedstead  reached  to  the  ceiling, 
and  from  it  hung  a  canopy  of  dark  silk  which 
parted  at  the  sides  and  swept  upon  the  polished 
floor.     The  light  of  the  candles  shone  in  the 


1' 


1i 


n" 


I, 


310  AN   INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


rip' 

i 


ffc 


n 


I 


t'?u 


opening  and  lighted  with  a  strange  luster  the 
stricken  face  that  lay  back  behind  the  dark 
canopy.  To  the  boy's  reverent  eyes  it  seemed 
almost  a  shrine,  and  from  very  awe  he  did  not 
approach  nearer,  but  threw  himself  prostrate 
upon  the  great  crimson  pillow  of  down  which 
lay  across  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

Not  till  the  Abb^  made  a  movement  of  waiting 
did  he  speak ;  then  he  said,  "  I  have  come  at 
your  bidding,  Father.  I  would  have  been  here 
"before,  but  the  Governor  needed  me.  Do  you 
know  that  this  night  we  give  up  to  the  English, 
and  the  morrow  will  see  us  on  the  ocean  for 
France?  All  the  plans  are  being  made,  and 
you  and  I  go  on  the  same  ship." 

"You  and  I  will  not  go  on  the  morrow,"  said 
the  priest.  "  For  me  there  is  a  longer  journey 
than  France,  and  for  you  a  sterner  duty  than 
that  to  the  Governor.  The  Indians  out  in  the 
Hill  Settlement  are  dying  by  scores  with  the 
malady  that  came  upon  them  years  ago,  nor 
'  can  they  be  saved  but  by  the  medicine  I  saved 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF    LOUISBURG.  311 


them  with  then;  no  one  but  you,  or  I,  can 
gather  the  roots  for  the  cure  —  and  before  the 
sua  sets  to-night  I  will  have  started  on  my 
journey." 

It  was  part  of  the  priest's  power  over  the 
boy  that  he  stated  things  directly  thus.  To 
have  worked  upon  his  sympathy  by  long  recital 
of  the  suffering  people  would  have  been  incite- 
ment soon  cooled,  but  deep  in  the  boy's  nature 
was  the  sense  of  duty,  and  be  bowed  down 
before  this  straightforward  proclamation  of  it. 
Not  for  an  instant,  at  first,  did  he  think  of 
evading  the  task.  How  it  was  to  be  accom- 
plished, and  how  he  could  be  brave  enough  to 
accomplish  it,  were  his  only  thoughts. 

"The  forests  are  dense.  Father,  outside  the 
city  walls,  and  the  way  is  more  than  a  score  of 
miles,  and  strange,"  he  said. 

"There  is  a  shorter,  safer  way  to  go,"  replied 
the  priest.  "  Claude  Ouachenoite  is  in  the  main 
ward  — he  can  tell  you.  It  was  for  the  medicine 
he  came,  but  he  was  shot  and  cannot  live  a  day. 


3 '2  AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 


l'^ 


Pi 


t'ii 


■X' 

•■■4v 


i 


l^ 


He  will  give  you  all  directions  —  go  to  him  now, 
and  then  return  to  me." 

"  He  died  not  an  hour  since,  as  I  waited  your 
pleasure,"  replied  the  boy.  And  even  when  he 
spoke  he  knew  that  this  would  in  no  sense  deter 
the  duty  in  the  Abbd's  mind. 

"Died?"  exclaimed  the  Father,  "dead  now? 
and  I  could  have  taken  down  the  directions. 
Your  task  will  be  even  harder  than  I  feared; 
but  a  way  will  be  shown  you.  To  escape  from 
Duchambon's  eye  will  be  the  hardest  part.  The 
Governor  sees  things  not  as  you  and  I  see  them, 
and  the  need  would  not  appear  to  him ;  but  there 
is  a  need,  and  according  as  the  light  has  been 
given  us,  we  must  walk,  not  as  it  has  been 
given  to  others.    To-night,  did  you  say,  the  city 


IS  given  up 


?" 


"To-night,"  said  the  boy  wearily.  "To-night 
at  six  the  fleet  enters  the  harbor,  and  all  night 
the  packing  goes  on  in  the  Governor's  house. 
He  gave  me  many  directions  —  will  it  be  right 
to  leave  my  duty  there  ? " 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG.  313 

"Duties  can  never  conflict,"  said  the  AbW. 
"  There  are  no  duties ;  one  overcomes  the  others 
and  is  paramount.  Yours  is  to  go  to  these  In- 
dians. They  have  been  our  friends  —  can  we 
leave  them  now,  our  support,  even  as  a  nation, 
withdrawn,  and  know  that  only  from  selfishness 
on  our  part,  they  perish?  They  trust  me  to 
send  or  bring  the  cure  ;  I  cannot  go,  and  you 
are  the  only  one  I  can  send.  You  are  young, 
but  have  the  knowledge  and  heart  of  a  man. 

"The  West  Gate,  undergoing  repairs  when 
the  siege  began,  is  temporarily  barricaded 
with  lumber  and  stones,  and  during  the  siege 
breaches  have  been  made  in  the  walls  adjoining 
it.  Be  there  at  twelve,  when  the  guard  changes, 
slip  through,  and  then  follow  your  senses  over 
the  thirty  miles  between  there  and  the  settle- 
ment. Not  a  beast,  human  or  wild,  shall  touch 
a  lock  of  your  gold  hair  to  harm  you  —  " 

The  Father's  voice  trembled,  and  broke  as  he 
said  these  last  words,  and  he  turned  away  from 
the  boy's  steady  gaze,  for  he  loved  him,  and 


i 
I 


'n 


i   ] 


M 


314    AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE  SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


m 


rather  than  have  him  harmed,  would  have  suf- 
fered untold  tortures.  As  he  looked  upon  him 
and  thought  of  all  the  dangers  that  might  assail 
him,  he  hesitated,  and  his  heart  cried  out,  "  Not 
this  child !  he  will  meet  hardness  soon  enough  ; 
do  not  thrust  it  upon  him,  let  him  live  his  happy 
boy  life !  "  But  no,  the  task  must  be  done ; 
and  when  he  spoke  again  there  was  a  pitiless 
ring  in  his  voice. 

"  Forty  days  the  sun  has  shone  clear  and 
bright,  a  deluge  of  sunshine  uninterrupted  by 
cannon  shots  or  shrieks  of  death,  but  when  it 
goes  down  to-night,  the  rain  will  fall  and  the 
night  will  be  black  and  thick.  You  can  readily 
escape  through  the  ruined  streets  to  the  West 
Gate.  I  have  written  down  for  you  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  plants  whose  roots  you  require,  and 
on  your  way  you  will  gather  as  many  of  these 
as  you  can  carry.  I  have  also  written  directions 
for  preparing  the  remedy ;  given  freely  it  is 
potent  as  death,  given  sparingly  it  cheats  death. 
The  single  yellow  flower  I  showed  you  last  year 


AN    INCIDENT   OF   THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG.    315 


when  we  were  gathering  bulbs  you  will  seek  for 
carefully.  It  is  a  variety  of  the  Tormentilla  and 
you  could  easily  mistake  another  for  it,  but  I 
trust  you." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  a  sealed  paper  from  his 
pillow,  and  reaching  over  put  it  in  the  boy's 
hand,  which  lay  palm  upward  on  the  crimson 
cushion.  The  small  white  fingers  were  for  a 
moment  passive,  then  closed  tightly  over  it. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  you  will  get  back  to 
France,  or  when,  or  if  ever ;  but  that  need  not 
hinder  you.  You  will  not  try  to  leave  while 
these  small  hands  can  minister  to  their  needs  ; 
they  have  a  power  you  wot  not  of,  and  the 
power  was  given  you  to  use.    Will  you  go  ? " 

Slowly  the  boy  lifted  his  head  forward  and 
rose  to  his  teet,  his  face  rigid  with  determina- 
tion. So  worked  upon  had  he  been  by  the 
priest's  plans,  so  wrapped  in  his  directions,  that 
no  thought,  for  the  time,  of  friends,  of  France, 
or  even  of  the  dying  Abbd  entered  his  mind  to 
dispossess  this  other  motive.    That  the  Abb^ 


III 


11' 'f- 


316  AN   INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 

wished  him  to  go  he  knew,  that  he  must  go  he 
never  once  doubted,  and  with  not  a  trace  of 
boyish  weakness  or  indecision  he  said,  "  I  will," 
bent  for  a  moment  and  kissed  the  trembling 
hand  outside  the  coverlet,  then  went  from  the 
room. 

With  firm  step  he  walked  down  the  corridor, 
lifted  his  cloak  from  a  stand,  and  wrapped  it 
about  his  shoulders  and  stepped  out  into  the 
bright  sunlight. 

Then  came  the  revulsion,  and  the  weakness. 
The  ruined  streets,  the  moans  of  the  wounded 
borne  into  the  hospital,  the  curses  of  the  sol- 
diers —  all  lost  for  a  while  in  the  hush  of  that 
dim  chamber  with  the  dying  priest  —  broke  the 
spell,  and  bursting  back  into  the  room  again  he 
threw  himself  down  with  bitter  crying,  on  the 
floor  beside  the  bed. 

"What  makes  you  ask  me.?"  he  cried.  "I 
cannot  do  it.  And  you,  O,  Father!  how  can 
I  bear  to  think  of  you  dying  and  leaving  me  — 
I  forgot  it,  forgot  everything,  and  I  thought  I 


R£<***:i 


AN    INCIDEiVT   OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  317 

could  do  it,  but  I  cannot.  I  would  rather  die 
here  with  you.  It  is  so  far  there,  and  so  wild, 
and  I  may  never  get  back  to  France  —  what 
makes  you  ask  me  >  it  is  too  hard ;  it  is  so  hard, 
and  I  am  only  a  boy ! " 

"Only  a  boy,"  ah,  yes!  the  Father  knew  it. 
With  a  dying  strength  he  leaned  forward  and 
drew  the  boy's  gold  locks  and  white  face  close 
to  his  own,  and  for  many  minutes  there  was  no 
word  spoken.  Close  around  the  Abbd's  neck 
the  boy  twined  his  arms,  and  they  lay  there 
together,  together  as  they  would  never  be  again, 
together  struggling,  the  boy  with  his  weakness, 
the  man  with  death ;  and  for  a  while  the  two 
held  communion  that  no  words  could  interpret 
—  the  gray-haired  man,  all  but  through  with  the 
battles  of  life,  the  boy  just  beginning  them. 

At  length  the  Ahh6  spoke.  "  Leon,"  he  said, 
"you  are  only  a  boy,  but  it  is  not  men  alone 
who  do  brave  deeds ;  it  is  the  spirit  and  not  the 
age.  And  if  the  journey  be  wild  and  rough  and 
never  perhaps  leads  to  France  —  what  matter  ? 


if  ! 


Mi 


i\ 


li?;  ; 


Kih: 


i-^p 


318  AN    INCIDENT  OF  THE  SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 

Your  feet,  before  you  live  to  be  my  age,  will  have 
to  tread  many  wilder,  rougher  ways.  I  am  near 
the  end  of  mine ;  not  ever  to  France  can  I  go  — 
and  God  will  you  may  never  love  France  as  I 
do  and  b(  kept  from  France  as  I  have  been. 
I  meant  always,  to  tell  you  —  but  now  it  is 
too  late.  If  as  hard  things  are  for  you  as 
were  meted  out  to  me  I  have  no  fear  you 
will  shirk. 

"  Before  the  ships  sail  on  the  morrow,  while 
yet  this  is  a  French  city,  I  will  be  through  my 
journey ;  and  yours  will  be  but  begun.  I  will 
be  buried  under  the  great  hemlock-tree  on  the 
hillside,  where  we  have  rested  so  often ;  the  sur- 
geon has  promised  me  that.  And  once,  some 
time,  I  want  you  to  come  and  lie  down  beside  me, 
I  shall  know  it.  Now  go,  the  hours  are  pass- 
ing and  there  is  much  for  you  to  think  of  and 
do.  No  fears  this  time,  no  tears  ;  think  not  of 
France,  but  only  of  the  Right." 

Again  the  boy  rose  to  his  feet  and  bent  and 
kissed    the    trembling    hands    of    the    Abb^. 


mi 


AN    INCIDENT  OF  THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURO.  319 


Neither  spoke  a  word  of  farewell;  that  had 
been  done  in  the  long,  silent  embrace,  and 
again  he  turned  from  the  room  and  went  out  of 
the  great  doors  of  the  hospital. 

This  time  the  noises  of  the  street  did  not  dis- 
turb him.  He  passed  slowly  along,  as  was 
necessary  among  the  debris  that  blocked  the 
way.  Groups  of  men  stood  congregated  on 
safe  corners,  in  their  hearts  and  upon  their 
faces  even  now  the  shadow  of  the  great  home- 
sickness that  would  assail  them  with  such  terri- 
ble force,  when  with  the  morrow's  sundown  the 
transport-ships  would  drop  down  the  harbor, 
out  of  sight  of  the  islands  and  hills  and  famil- 
iar shores  of  what  to  many  was  their  native 
land,  and  leaving  behind  them  forever  their  dead, 
and  their  city  in  ruins. 

As  the  straight  cloaked  figure  of  the  boy 
passed  these  groups  scores  of  hats  were  doffed, 
for  scarcely  a  man  in  the  city  but  knew  by  sight 
if  not  personally,  the  handsome  ward  of  the 
Governor,  who  walked  about  so  much  with  the 


320  AN   INCIDENT  OF  THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 


AbW.  Seeing  but  the  one  figure  now,  many  a 
pitying  thought  came  into  their  hearts  for  the 
lonely  lad,  for  all  knew  that  the  kind  priest  lay 
dying  in  the  hospital.  How  little  they  guessed 
what  a  deeper  loneliness  would  come  to  him, 
how  little  they  knew  of  the  struggle  in  his 
heart ! 

With  no  show  of  it  in  his  face  he 
walked  on  and  struck  the  Parade.  The  great 
square  was  deserted  and  desolate,  and  he 
quickly  crossed  it  and  entered  the  garrison 
chapel.  There,  wild  with  excitement,  people  of 
all  classes  had  thronged,  the  rich  and  the  poor 
crowded  indiscriminately  in  the  pews  and  aisles, 
all  bowed  with  the  common  anguish  of  leaving 
their  homes  and  losing  their  dear  ones. 

Close  beside  the  door  knelt  a  woman  rich  in 
laces  and  silk,  who  had  lost  husband  and  son 
during  the  siege.  Throwing  her  arms  up  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands  she  moaned 
in  agony  of  prayer,  "  Ah,  Blessed  Mother,  make 
me  strong,  make  me  strong  !  " 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE  SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG.  32 1 


"  Ah,  yes,  make  me  strong,"  the  boy  echoed 
as  he  knelt  beside  her,  "  make  me  strong ! " 
But  only  his  heart  echoed  it;  no  word  escaped 
his  rigid  lips,  and  he  rose  from  his  knees  and 
passed  out  of  the  chapel.  Reaching  the  outer 
door  he  paused ;  he  could  distinctly  hear  a  hoarse 
roaring  like  distant  thunder,  and  knew  the  storm 
the  priest  had  prophesied  was  at  hand.  Already 
It  was  sending  its  prelude  through  the  air  and 
over  the  waters  of  the  tempestuous  Atlantic. 

To  the  left  was  the  placid  harbor,  at  its 
mouth  the  British  fleet,  and  beyond  the  fleet  the 
heavy  bank  of  fog  that  the  southwest  wind 
blowing  from  the  strait  and  Cape  North  kept 
alwavs  there. 

To  the  right,  beyond  and  over  the  walls 
sloped  the  spacious  marsh,  covered  now  with 
myriads  of  golden-cupped  lilies.  And  beyond 
the  marsh,  landward,  beyond  the  West  Gate, 
straight  out  from  the  gabled  roofs  of  the  hospi- 
tal ky  the  low  hills  and  black  woods.  Through 
them  and  alone  the  boy  must  pass. 


322  AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


If 


i 


i 


m 


He  stood  still,  with  both  hands  shading  his 
eyes,  looking  out  over  the  broad  waters  for  many 
minutes.  Out  by  the  rocky  islet  lay  the  ships 
that  would  have  taken  him  on  the  morrow,  but 
instead  he  would  be  —  where  ?  The  great 
stretch  of  black  woods  beyond  the  marsh  was 
his  only  answer. 

For  the  last  time,  doubtless,  all  these  sights ! 
With  a  weak,  struggling  heart  Leon  turned  away 
and  crossed  to  the  north  side  of  the  square 
where  the  Governor's  mansion  was ;  he  entered 
quietly  and  went  up  to  his  own  apartment.  The 
house  was  crowded  with  people,  and  Duchambon 
himself  occupied  with  a  delegation  of  the  elders 
of  the  city.  No  one  gave  particular  thought  to 
the  boy,  and  any  who  might,  supposed  him  with 
the  dying  Abb^. 

Shutting  himself  in,  he  fastened  the  door  and 
lay  wearily  down  across  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The 
sunset  vanished  almost  as  soon  as  it  glowed. 
Then  the  storm  began  ;  the  rain  came  down  in 
sheets  and  the  wind  blew  fiercely  with  it. 


AN   INCIDENT   OF   THE  SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG.  323 

Two  hours  and  more  he  lay  there.  No 
thought  of  evading  the  task  entered  his  mind  ; 
to  do  it  was  compulsory  —  that  it  was  so  hard  to 
do  caused  the  struggle. 

A  sound  of  guns  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
room  and  told  him  that  it  wanted  but  an  hour 
of  twelve ;  at  twelve  the  guard  at  the  West  Gate 
would  change. 

He  opened  the  window  and  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  sill.  Far  off  in  the  harbor  and 
toward  the  King's  Bastion  was  a  confused  noise 
of  voices  and  guns,  but  out  in  the  direction  of 
the  West  Gate  all  was  quiet.  The  window 
opened  on  a  piazza,  and  from  this  to  the  ter- 
raced garden  was  an  easy  leap. 

Not  a  sound  did  his  lithe  footfalls  make  as  he 
crossed  the  Parade  and  stole  past  the  sentry- 
post  and  out  into  the  street  which  led  direct  to 
the  hospital.  There  the  lights  from  the  many 
windows  broke  the  black  gloom  of  the  night  and 
threw  in  full  sight  the  street  in  front,  so  turning 
in  another  direction  he  went  by  a  longer  route 


324  AN    INCIDENT   OF   THE  SIEGE   OF    LOUISBURG. 


up  over  the  Covert  Ways  and  direct  to  the  side 
of  the  West  Gate.  He  did  not  reach  it  a 
moment  too  soon.  Scarcely  had  he  shielded 
himself  behind  the  stone  loosely  piled  there 
during  the  siege  when  a  group  of  soldiers 
marched  up  ''  ^..eet  singing  and  talking 
loudly.  They  as  well  as  the  guard  at  the  gate 
had  been  drinking  freely  of  the  liquor  which 
had  been  placed  in  the  general  storehouse. 
Orders  were  given  for  it  to  be  strictly  guarded, 
but  in  the  confusion  of  the  last  hours  all  orders 
had  been  broken,  and  whole  hogsheads  were 
emptied  and  distributed  among  the  soldiers  in 
different  parts  of  the  city.  When  the  group 
drew  near  they  roused  the  drunken  guard  and 
all  went  into  the  shed  in  front  of  the  gate  where 
the  liquor  had  been  secreted. 

With  a  s  igle  leap  the  boy  stepped  from 
behind  tht  stone  and  pushed  through  the  near- 
est breach,  passing  so  close  to  the  soldiers  that 
the  end  of  his  cloak  brushed  against  one  of 
them.     The  soldier  started  and  grasped  his 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THit   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  321; 


musket,  but  seeing  nothing  and  hearing  only  the 
laughter  of  his  comrades,  passed  on  to  the  shed  ; 
giving  time  to  the  boy  to  walk  swiftly  out  of 
sound  before  the  new  guard  came  on  duty. 
Another  moment  and  escape  would  have  been 
hopeless;  trained  to  instant  decision  by  the 
Abb6  he  used  the  moment  given  him. 

For  an  hour  his  way  lay  over  the  low  hills 
that  skirted  the  back  of  the  walls.  The  rain, 
fierce  enough  in  the  more  sheltered  city,  beat 
furiously  down  in  the  open  country,  and  when 
he  reached  the  great  wood  he  was  drenched  to 
the  skin. 

This  much  of  the  journey  he  knew  well,  and 
knew  that  not  forty  yards  within  the  wood  was 
a  wigwam  used  by  the  Indians  when  going  back 
and  forth  from  the  city.  He  and  the  Abb^  had 
often  rested  there.  With  little  diflSculty  he 
found  it  and  lay  down,  utterly  exhausted.  All 
the  rest  of  the  night  he  lay  there,  awake  and 
alone,  on  the  verge  of  the  dark  forest;  the 
giant  trees  rocking  and  reeling  in  the  furious 


326  AN    INCIDENT   OF  THE  SIEGE   OF    LOUISBURG. 


gusts,  and  the  rain  falling  like  bullets  on  the 
birch-bark  shelter. 

Soon  as  the  morning  dawned,  he  started 
again,  and  all  day  with  no  depression,  no  sorrow 
on  his  face,  pursued  his  way  like  a  man  going 
about  some  business  he  had  long  expected  to 
perform.  In  the  open  places  of  the  forest  and 
on  the  shores  of  the  lakes  he  searched  for  the 
roots  the  Abbd  had  specified.  Often  the  way 
was  rough  and  untrodden,  sometimes  the  woods 
so  dense  and  dark  that  his  eyes  could  penetrate 
no  farther  than  each  step  took  him. 

Once,  a  great  sheet  of  water  in  the  midst  of 
the  wood  forced  him  to  turn  back  and  retrace 
miles  of  his  journey,  only  to  again  emerge  on 
the  edge  of  the  same  lake.  Again  he  wound 
his  way  back,  and  this  time  struck  the  very  trail 
the  Indian  runner  had  taken  on  his  fatal  errand 
to  Louisburg.  The  way  was  worn  and  easily 
followed  and  led  direct  to  the  encampment,  so 
that  when  nightfall  came  he  was  within  a  mile 
of  the  Hill  Settlement. 


H 
I 

< 

0, 

H 


. 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE  OF    LOUISBURG.  329 


Only  a  few  words  of  Micmac  tongue  he  knew, 
but  much  of  the  Algonquin,  for  the  Abb^,  with 
a  strange  love  for  mastering  all  that  touched 
him,  had  possessed  himself  of  this  language; 
and  a  knowledge  of  Algonquin  among  the  In- 
dian tribes  of  that  time  was  what  French  is 
among  European  nations  of  to-day,  so  the  boy 
knew  that  he  could  converse  readily  with  the 
chief  and  elder  braves. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  he  entered  the 
plague-stricken  village.  The  wigwams  were 
ranged  in  a  semicircle  inside  the  picketed  in- 
closure.  Lying  on  the  ground  before  some  of 
them  and  across  the  thresholds  of  many,  were 
the  dying  Indians,  men,  women  and  children  ; 
squatted  in  frightened  groups  were  others,  and 
from  some  of  the  wigwams  came  the  sound  of 
wailing  and  chanting. 

As  the  fair-haired  boy  entered  the  open  part 
of  the  inclosure,  he  could  be  distinctly  seen 
from  all  the  tents.  Under  his  arms  were  great 
bundles  of  jed  and  black  roots,  in  his  hands 


*^    .  .;:!M 


330  AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 


bunches  of  the  flowering  Tormentilla ;  his  cloak 
fell  back  from  his  shoulders,  his  golden  curls 
were  damp  and  tossed  by  the  wind  and  rain,  and 
his  face  intense  and  eager  with  sympathy. 

Some  slunk  back  with  fears  at  his  approach, 
o  Jrs  clustered  about  him,  while  yet  others  ran 
to  ;ef  to  acquaint  him  of  the  stranger  in 

their  miusi.  It  took  but  few  words  to  tell  the 
chief  of  the  death  of  the  Indian  runner,  and 
why  he  had  been  sent  in  his  stead  and  instead 
of  the  Abb^. 

Weeks  he  remained,  healing  many  with 
almost  miraculous  power,  and  staying  the  ravage 
of  the  plague.  Carefully  he  taught  the  Indians 
to  themselves  recognize  and  clean  the  roots,  and 
went  with  parties  to  gather  and  dry  the  Tormen- 
tilla against  a  further  need ;  and  when  the 
maize  grew  golden  and  full,  every  trace  of  the 
plague  had  left. 

Not  while  he  could  minister  to  the  people  had 
he  allowed  himself  to  think  of  France;  the 
need  over,  the  mission  accomplished,  his  heart 


AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  331 


yearned  for  friends  and  civilized  life.  With 
characteristic  silence  the  Indians  had  never 
questioned  him  of  his  departure.  They  ac- 
cepted his  tarrying  as  they  had  accepted  his 
coming,  and  when  the  boy  spoke  to  them  of  his 
desire  to  return  to  Franc^;,  they  readily  told  him 
of  the  yearly  visit  the  Micmacs  of  Isle  Royale 
made  every  hunting  moon  to  pay  tribute  to  the 
Algonquins  on  the  Ottawa  River,  and  when  he 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  them  on 
their  voyage,  they  sought  in  no  way  to  deter 
him. 

Remembering  the  dying  wish  of  the  Abb^  he 
urged  one  of  the  braves  to  go  back  with  him 
over  the  perilous  journey  of  that  stormy  night 
and  help  him  seek  out  the  grave  of  his  loved 
friend.  But  the  English  still  held  the  ruined 
city,  and  knowing  that  they  were  regarded  by 
them  as  the  allies  of  the  French,  the  Indians 
had  wholesome  fears  of  being  seen  and  refused 
to  go ;  they  promised  to  find  the  grave  at  some 
later  time  and  carefully  tend  it. 


332  AN    INCIDENT  OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG. 


i:*!* 


f 


When  the  full  ears  were  gathered,  the  furs 
dried  and  dressed,  and  the  canoes  newly  orna- 
mented, the  braves  of  the  Micmacs  started  on 
their  journey.  At  dawn  of  day  they  set  out 
from  the  encampment.  Silently  the  chief  and 
the  women  and  children  followed  them  to  the 
water's  edge  to  bid  farewell  to  the  fair-haired 
^^'enuch  whom  they  had  reverenced  as  though  he 
were  a  Sasus  sent  from  God.  Almost  as  sor- 
Dwiiiily  the  boy  bade  adieu  to  them,  promising 
that  sometime  if  he  lived  he  would  return. 

Up  the  little  river  they  sped,  across  the  por- 
tage to  the  chain  of  lakes  and  out  into  the  next 
river  to  its  mouth  —  then  the  blue  waters  of  che 
Atlantic!  Close  by  the  shore  they  paddled,  up 
through  the  narrow  precipitous  strait  between 
Isle  Royale  and  the  peninsula,  and  up  into 
the  longer  strait  between  that  and  Isle  Jean. 
Then  Fort  Beau  Sejeur  came  to  view,  and  there 
they  stopped  for  supplies  of  food  and  another 
detachment  of  Indians  to  join  them  on  their  long 
journey  to  "  the  people  at  the  end  of  the  water." 


AN   INCIDENT   OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  33^ 

There  too  was  De  Luttre,  the  missionary 
priest  from  Quebec.  To  him  the  boy  went  for 
information  ;  and  when  the  canoes  started  again 
on  their  journey  he  remained  behind,  persuaded 
by  De  Luttre  to  go  with  him  by  sloop  direct  to 
Quebec,  and  from  there  by  vessel  to  France. 

When  the  next  moon  the  braves  returned 
they  had  no  answer  to  the  eager  inquiries  for 
"the  Wenuch,"  except  that  he  had  remained 
with  De  Luttre  and  given  them  promise  again 
that  sometime  when  the  marsn  was  golden  with 
lilies  he  would  return. 

Every  year  after  this  some  of  the  Indians  jour- 
neyed out  to  camp  on  a  slope  of  the  low  hills 
just  outside  the  city's  walls,  not  a  rod  from  the 
simple  iron  cross  that  marked  the  grave  of  the 
Abb^;  camped  and  waited  till  the  lilies  faded. 
The  chief,  the  elders  of  the  tribe,  were  laid  under 
the  tumulus  of  their  fathers.  Dying,  the  elders 
told  the  tale  to  the  young  men,  and  in  no  year 
was  the  watch  unkept. 

Fifty  summers  the  lilies  grew  yellow  on  the 


I 


U3 


11 


334  AN    INCIDENT  OF    THE   SIEGE   OF    LOUISBURG. 

Louisburg  Marsh,  fifty  summers  the  dusky 
watchers  camped  under  the  shadow  of  the  low 
hills. 

Twice  that  fiftieth  year  the  waiting  braves 
started  on  their  homeward  trail,  twice  by  some 
strange  influence  returned  and  prolonged  the 
watch.  The  lilies  budded  and  blossomed  and 
turned  from  all  their  gold  to  brown  and  faded 
quite ;  then,  over  the  surface  of  the  marsh 
shone  the  blossoms  of  the  bake-apple ;  the 
blossoms  had  turned  to  their  tinted  fruit,  when 
one  evening  as  the  sun  set  over  the  water  and 
fired  the  bank  of  fog  that  walled  the  sea,  a 
canoe  shot  from  out  the  glory  over  the  blue 
waves  of  the  ocean  and  into  the  smooth  deso- 
late waters  of  the  harbor. 

When  it  touched  the  shore  below  the  ruined 
city  the  dusky  men  were  already  there,  and  they 
lifted  out  with  loving  care  the  man  who  lay  on 
the  blancoating.  Fifty  years  they  had  waited 
his  coming,  fifty  years  he  had  waited  to  come. 
All  the  honors  heaped  upon  him  in  the  fifty 


AN    INCIDENT   OF   THE   SIEGE   OF   LOUISBURG.  335 


years  these  simple  people  did  not  know,  and  he 
did  not  speak  of  them.  When  they  saw  him 
pallid  and  weak,  and  he  told  them  that  a  malady 
had  come  upon  him  that  he  could  not  cure,  they 
did  not  know  that  if  his  skill  availed  not  then 
surely  no  other  would. 

Tenderly,  reverently,  they  helped  his  weary 
body  up  over  the  ruined  walls  of  the  city ;  and 
out  on  the  slope  where  the  iron  cross  stood ; 
then  they  left  him,  and  till  all  the  light  faded 
he  lay  there. 

When  night  came  they  had  constructed  a 
rude  litter,  and  carefully  they  carried  him,  by 
easy  stages  to  the  wigwam  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  There  they  rested  till  dawn ;  and  before 
another  morning  were  at  the  Indian  village. 

Not  a  score  of  those  who  remembered  him 
were  living,  but  these  remembered  him  well. 
Quietly,  contentedly  he  tarried  with  them ;  told 
them  of  his  long  adventures  in  getting  back  to 
France,  of  his  meeting  with  Duchambon  who 
had  supposed  him  dead  ;  and  of  his  life  since. 


$;^6   AN    INCIDENT   OF  THE   SIEGE  OF   LOUISBURG. 


He  saved  many  who  were  sick,  taught  them 
much  knowledge  of  roots  and  herbs,  and  pre- 
pared for  them  cures  which  to  this  day  they 
preserve  and  use  ;  and  before  the  lilies  were 
blown  again  passed  away  from  them  forever. 

Close  beside  the  Abbd  they  laid  him,  under 
the  great  hemlock-tree  ;  wrapped  him  in  costly 
furs,  chanted  their  funeral  wails,  watched  three 
days  and  nights  by  the  grave,  then  went  their 
way  and  left  the  two  together. 

The  dark  hemlock  tosses  its  plumes  over 
them,  the  Atlantic  surges  and  moans  afar,  and 
under  the  simple  iron  cross  they  rest.  One,  an 
exiled  son  of  one  of  France's  noblest  fami- 
lies, the  other  a  physician  of  such  renown  that 
France  would  have  honored  him  as  a  prince 
in  his  burial. 


